Punks and Princesses
by Mizayo
Summary: Dean McMaron is a vampire. He's also a lazy, post-punk who plans on wasting his whole unlife away. Since moving to LA, though, some weird shit has gone down. He's got a best friend, learned a hella' lot about vampire politics, and met a fascinating new woman who just so happens to work for the head honcho himself. Just what the hell is going on here? Eventual M/M
1. Part 1, Chapter 1

**A/N - **Alright. So. To start off, I would like to say that this story is really starting to get to me. Like, the characters are creeping around my head constantly anymore, and while I had wanted to wait and make sure I have enough chapters out to create a release schedule, I fear I simply cannot keep from posting this any longer. I realize that I don't have the greatest track record with unfinished stories, but I assure you, I WILL finish this one. I've already gotten up to about half way through chapter nine, and I fully intend to keep going.

That being said, I want to establish what the updating schedule will most likely be. Right now, I'm thinking every two weeks. That way, it allows me to focus on school work and my grades while still having enough time in between to work on the next couple chapters. I realize that there is always a possibility for something to turn up unexpectedly, but I promise I will always work to keep updating this, and will give an ETA if and when the schedule might need to be temporarily altered. I also realize that this story is likely not to have a very large following, but I still feel that this is necessary for me to put on myself, so that I actually finish a story for once. A personal goal, if you will. And if any readers benefit from this schedule, then well! Good for that too! :) I'm thinking that, while this is actually a Tuesday, I will update every two Fridays. That way, it gives me some time at school to work on it as well, as strangely that seems to be the only times I get large amounts done.

And now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>1. Who Mourns for Cammies?<strong>

It was cold. Like, _really_ cold. Cold enough to instantly freeze a horse in his tracks as he tried to run down from Russia to France. But fuck if Dean cared. Pretty little babe strapped to his side for dear life, the full moon casting just enough light for him to see perfectly, and enough booze in him to OD three cows - he was happy. Fuck, it was his 63rd birthday - man was allowed a little shit-facing at this age. But… _Jesus_, it was cold.

"Darling," he mumbled, his mouth having almost frozen shut without his noticing. How could it be so cold without it snowing, or icing over somehow? He brought her closer to him with his arm. Though, of course it wouldn't help any, seeing as his body temp was just as chilly as the rest of the world. "You cold?"

It took a moment before she replied, as of course she would be feeling the cold a lot more than he would be. "Mhmm…" she murmured into his side, trying to dig in further to find the warmth, though he had none. He had forgotten just how fragile humans are. Fuck, if he thought about it, she might even be hypothermic.

"Hold on hun, we'll be back at my place in a minute," he tried to reassure her. She didn't answer, but only leaned farther into his neck. Shit, he needed to get her inside. If he wasn't careful, she would start to freeze - and no one likes deep frozen meals.

When they finally got back to his rented room in the nearby motel, he ushered her inside and wrapped her in a thick blanket as soon as he could. Some birthday snack this was turning out to be - who wanted to nurse their treats back to health? But she was shaking like a leaf, her skin as pale as the oldest Elder he'd seen, and her lips a swollen purple. Strangely attractive, to be honest, but he was everything but a monster. Well, a _kill-on-an-everyday-basi_s kind of monster.

He decided snuggling up close to her was a fairly terrible idea, seeing as he was still probably just as cold as it had been outside. So he sat on a chair across from the bed she was on, watching to see when she would stop shivering. He tried talking to her, but she either was ignoring him, or was passed out sitting up or something weird. He gave up. Another half hour later, she still wouldn't talk. He sighed and stood up, walking over towards her and sitting next to her on the bed. He could see now that she was wide awake, but was refusing to talk to him. He reached up to touch her shoulder, gauging just how cold she was. Still icey, but not dead.

He, however, was now quite warm, and so he wrapped his arms around her slowly, a bit afraid that she would just run off it he startled her. Food was often very skittish, even if they didn't _know_ they were food yet. "Are you doing okay now, Sweetie?" he asked tentatively, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

It was then that she turned her sharp gaze toward him, her eyes piercing through him. God, was she actually _mad_? At _him_? "Still cold, you bastard. This is not with the $50."

Little bitch was really going to throw that in his face when they hadn't even gotten to do anything? Did she even know that he wasn't planning on fucking her? Doubtful - she _was_ a whore, anyway. "Excuse me?" he finally retorted, backing a few inches from her.

She scoffed, turning her back to him. "You heard me - I was payed to fuck some random cutie, not freeze to death in a ratty motel." She then took a long sigh and laid down on the rough mattress, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her.

He took a moment before replying, but when he did, he smirked, laying down right behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'm sorry, Sweetie. I didn't mean for this to happen…"

She hesitated before nodding quietly. "I know. I'm sorry for snapping. It's just that freezing isn't exactly on the payroll," she said softly, chuckling a little.

He began stroking her shoulder. "You're just saying sorry so you still get your $50."

"Oh no, I wouldn't do _that_…" he could almost see her smirk.

"I'm sure," he murmured softly, trying to ease her back into a false sense of security. "But I do so feel bad about your freezing. How about I… make it up to you?"

She seemed hesitant, but nodded in the end and let out a small "Mhmm."

Then, ever so slowly, he began to kiss her delicate shoulder, then a little bit towards her neck, kiss by kiss. He heard her sighing as he did so, and she squirmed ever so slightly, her skin warming up under his touch. Finally, he reached her neck, and planted a sensual, languid kiss along that ripe vein. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth to uncover his fangs, and plunged them into her neck.

She jumped, obviously not expecting the sharp pain accompanying a bite such as this, and a small whimper fell from her delicate lips before it changed into a soft sob. He knew that a vampire bite hurt like hell - he himself had been bitten before, obviously - but this seemed almost unnecessarily painful for his lovely little flower. Honestly, though… he didn't care too much. She was delicious, and he wasn't necessarily going to _kill_ her.

After taking enough blood to satisfy him for the next night or two, he ran his tongue over the wound to close it up. He lapped at the blood that hadn't quite gotten into his mouth and had gotten all over her shoulder. When he was done, she was already asleep. Being bitten usually did leave you quite weak, and most kine fall asleep afterwards. He didn't mind; it left time for him to clean up after his mess before leaving.

He walked into the bathroom of the small motel room - the only other area in the whole place - and grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet. After a moment, though, he grabbed another for good measure. He soaked them both in warm water and walked back towards the bed. He started to wipe off the blood from around her neck, which was surprisingly a lot. Had he been so messy?

Shaking his head to try and clear the thought, he finished cleaning the area around her neck and the mess along the sheets. He was surprised at himself for being so messy, but really he shouldn't have. He was never one to really _try_ to be better at anything, and vampirism was no different. Well, at least, not _too_ different.

Fishing around in his shirt pocket, he pull out his wallet and flip through it. He tossed a $50 next to her, along with a pack of cigarettes as an apology, and walked out the door.

The night was still young, and he had yet to party with anyone as he had originally intended to. Maybe he'd even be able to grab another doll before going back to the motel room. Then they could have their own little party to themselves, he thought.

Dean started walking towards the downtown area. Maybe a nightclub or something… or maybe just a dingy bar. Either sounded great. Flipping his phone on, he dialed in the number of one of his good friends. It took longer for him to pick up, which was unusual for the energetic guy. "Y'ello?"

Dean smirked. Sometimes his friend was a bit… camp. Though, it had always been the thing that made him so fun to hang with. Well, one of the things anyway. "Heyya Knoxie, what's up?" When he hesitated, Dean went ahead and spoke up. "It's my birthday, man, and well… I was wondering if you wanted to come hang out. Grab a few drinks, check out the ladies…?" he drawled, as if trying to tempt Knox more than he knew he already was.

"Uh…" his stomach plummeted at the sound. Really? He was going to ditch Dean _now_? "I'm sorry, D, I'm sorta on a job right now, and I can't… leave. I'm sorry, man! _Man_…"

Damn. He had really been looking forward to hanging out. And he couldn't really be too mad at him, because, well, he _did_ sound a bit disappointed. And he couldn't really blame him if Tung had him out doing stuff. "Well, alright. What exactly are you doing, though? Tung got you out scouting or something?"

He seemed relieved that Dean hadn't gotten mad. Understandable, as Dean knew he had a bit of a temper when it came to humans, even ghouls. "Actually, yeah. He's taken a liking to some new kin around Santa Monica. Says she's pretty popular so far, and he wants to track her and make sure she isn't a threat. Also, we've got a bit of a Kue-jin problem…"

"Ouch. Sorry, Knox, sounds like you and your master have got your hands full. I'll, uh… call back later. Maybe we can hang out in a week or two."

"Yeah, man! And don't worry, this is nothing me and Bertram can't handle. We'll be drinking up the Asylum in no time," He said, sounding extremely excited about it. Then again, Knox always sounded excited about things. Then he hung up.

Walking onwards toward the more gritty areas of downtown LA, Dean realized that he had entered the more populated, city-like area. He hadn't been to this particular side of the city, and it seemed like a really interesting place to be, honestly. Skyscrapers lined each side of the street. Large buildings that held thousands of apartments and rooms for the wealthy stretched upward, and there were a couple swanky looking nightclubs dotted about the place. He wondered how many kindred lived in this area of town.

He headed towards the even more dingy area a few streets down, walking under a bridged area. There were homeless hanging out in the underpass, and an alleyway that seemed to hold even more of them. Santa Monica had its fair share of homeless, but this was a bit ridiculous. He kept from meeting their eyes, as he knew they would take one look at him and ask for his cash - which he didn't have much of.

On the opposite side of the infested alleyway was a tiny building, barely two stories high, with a worn, wooden sign lit up by cheap lights. "The Last Round…" he murmured, reading it. A bar? He guessed there was only one way to find out.

He walked towards it and could already hear the deafening noise of rock music. This seemed like his kind of place! Intrigued, he stepped on through the shabby door. The music instantly filled his head, making it difficult to think. Not quite what he was used to, but he could easily adapt. Besides, this place looked exactly like what he was hoping for.

As Dean made his way inside, he tried to take in the sights and was hoping for a bar. Then, directly on his left, was one of the grittiest and most disgusting bars he could ever hope to see. Excited, he sat down and ordered a beer. he enjoyed the few minutes he had to myself until…

"New kid in town, right?"

He swung around in his stool to see a fairly similar-looking man. He had a dark blue shirt over a dirtied, white tank and some shaggy jeans. His hair was a messy dark brown, and he had a fancy little goatee going on as well. It was almost like looking in the mirror - that mirror having a bit more tidy facial hair, that is. "Uh, not really. Been here about a year or so."

The mirror looked perplexed. "Really? I haven't seen you around here," he mumbled, almost to himself, before taking the seat next to Dean.

Dean let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I don't get out much. Not really in my nature."

The mirror smirked, looking at Dean through the corner of his eyes. That look said a lot, but Dean couldn't seem to figure out any of it. "Really? I would think that your nature would compel you outside quite a bit."

Now this intrigued Dean. Was this guy kin as well, or was he just a good judge of character? "Well, I don't get out much in the _day_, anyways. I tend to stick to my little apartment in Santa Monica."

The mirror nodded then, licking his lips before gulping down what was left of his beer. "Yep. Almost everyone here is like that, too. Even big Benny here," he said, a little louder while raising his now empty bottle. The bartender sulked over, scowling as he handed Dean's mirror another one, then walked back to his group of chatty cathies on the end.

"So you're all…?"

"Kindred, yeah. You couldn't tell? This is basically the Anarch base here in Los Angeles," he said, looking almost skeptical of Dean's lack of knowledge.

"Well, naw, I couldn't really tell. I wasn't lying when I said that I don't get out much. I hang out with Knox and Trip over in Santa Monica, but really I don't get deep into the gritty LA, if I can help it. I know the kind of political shit that's always going on down here, and I don't want any part of it," Dean told him straight. If he let the mirror know that he wasn't interested in hearing the Anarch-ian plight, then maybe he'd fuck off about it.

Dean got a bit of the stink eye before the mirror turned from him, took a huge swig of the beer, and then turned back to Dean, looking refreshed. "So, you're name, newbie?"

"Dean McMaron. Call me Dean. And you?" he held out his hand.

The mirror took it, shaking it roughly before grunting out, "Nines Rodriguez."

There was another long, comfortable silence as they both took a while to drink at least half of their beers. When the blaring music started to drill into his head enough that he didn't really notice it much anymore, he glanced at Nines. "So. You're an Anarch, then?"

"Yep."

Blunt. Okay… "And what clan are you?" Clans had always fascinated him for some reason. He knew that they were strangely important in knowing, so you knew how to deal with some people. Every kindred was different, of course, but a lot of times they were easier to handle if you knew just a little of what to expect from them.

"Brujah." Oh, great, a rabble-rouser. Dean should have guessed, him being an Anarch and all. But you know, you can never know. Or whatever, you get it. "Yours?"

Shit. He also should have known Nines would throw the question back at him. "Um… well, it's complicated, really."

That got him to look at Dean, bringing his beer from his lips and his head tilting, almost as if he was exasperated. "Shit, don't tell me you're dhampir or a thin-blood or… something. We don't need another half-twit here, goddammit."

Dean let out a laugh before looking him in the eye. "No, I'm not a half-breed. Well, at least I'm pretty sure I'm not. Just Caitiff is all."

Surprisingly, Nines let out a sigh of relief and returned to his drink. "Thank god, man. At least you're actually a vampire. _Jesus_." He looked at Dean through the corner of his eyes, noticing his confused expression. "We get a lot of weirdos around here," he explained further.

Dean laughed out loud at that, taking a swig of his own bottle. "Yeah… Hate to break it to you, bud, but you're in LA. You're going to find a lot of weirdos."

Sneering, Nines turned to the side, looking away from Dean and at some couple in the corner. When he looked back at Dean, he seemed a lot more aggravated. "You think I don't know that?" He looked back in the corner again before growling and getting up. "Hang on a minute…"

Dean watched as Nines stalked over towards the couple, who he was now taking a good look at. There was another guy there, average height with a disgusting, kind of cool beard. It looked like he was wearing strictly black denim, and showing as much body hair as was possible in a public place. Next to him was a short woman, wearing a t-shirt and capris. What stood out most was her army hat, though, and that ultra-bright red hair, with lips to match.

Nines was talking to them now, seeming very angry for some reason. Dean tried to tune his ears to their conversation, but to be honest his hearing was never very good, even now that he'd been a vampire for 40-some years. Plus, the music wasn't helping any.

They talked for quite a while, and Dean decided not to stare like an idiot and turned back to the bartender to grab another beer. After around 5 minutes went by, Nines was finally coming back to the bar, with his two friends in tow. None of them looked too happy.

"Hey, Dean… We need to ask you a few questions," said Nines, sitting back in the stool next to him, his friends filling on either side of us.

"Uh… sure."

"Wasn't really a question, McMaron." The woman with red hair said from her spot on the other side of him, snarling. What was this?

"What the _hell_, guys?"

She ignored him, and when he looked towards Nines, he simply seemed indifferent. The chick was barking at Dean again. "We hear you been hanging around Knox."

What the…? "Yeah, he's like my best bud. Why the fuck is that important?"

She ignored the question. "You been hanging with his master, too? What about the other Santa Monica ghouls? Buddy-buddy with them as well?"

Anger started rising, quicker by the minute. "Fuck you say? Why would he hang with any of those pricks? All they do is moan about shit they gotta do," he growled at her, getting ready to up and leave the place. She narrowed her eyes, seeming to not believe him. "Why the hell is that important, anyway? Shit, you act like they're out to get you or something. Jesus."

Finally, Nines spoke back up. "They are. All of them are Camarilla pawns, don't you get it? They could have sent you to spy on us, or even attack us."

"Wouldn't survive it, anyhow," Red pitched in.

"You can never be too cautious in this world, you know?" The hairy guy finally said, sitting on the other side of Nines so he couldn't see him well.

This was crazy. "You can. It's called being _paranoid_." It looked as if Nines was going to start up on his soap box again, so Dean cut him off. "You know, I just wanted a fun night out with my best friend, Knox, but he was too busy! So I come here, looking for a beer and maybe a babe, but I must have been taking a piss if I thought I might get a bit of a break on my 63rd birthday! Fucking hell, this isn't worth my night…" he started to get up and leave, but Nines grabbed his arm, strong enough to stop him but not enough to keep him there. Dean tugged it from his grip and sneered at him, willing him to just leave him alone.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry. But Jack's right; you can never be too careful. At least, if you're rolling with us. We're the minority anymore, and the whole world seems to be against us. Especially in LA, 'cause honestly, there's only like fifty of us. And, what, a couple hundred Cammies?"

"Goddamn Capes everywhere…" murmured a still angry Red next to Dean.

He still wasn't convinced that the whole reason they had ganged up on him was because they were 'paranoid'. They seemed like too cool of a group to be scared shitless of the Camarilla. Though, to be honest, he hadn't heard much about the Camarilla at that point, and didn't know jack shit who and what exactly they did. "Look," he sighed, turning back towards the rest of the crowd. "I'm not into sects, sides, or groups. I just wanted a bar to hang out at until the sun rose. If you're not going to let me do that, I might as well be outta here. 'Cause I don't want nothing to do with your shitty politics and fucking paranoia. Got it?"

Nines seemed to get angered - once again - by this, but the hairy guy - Jack, apparently - got up before he could say anything. "You're right, kiddo, we're sorry. Right, Nines? Damsel?" When they didn't respond, he nudged Nines harshly and gave Red - Damsel - the stink-eye. "Right?"

"Right," the others said in unison, as if being scolded by a cross parent. Strange, to see the two most temperamental Anarchs be sent to bed without dinner. Unwillingly, he let out a bark of laughter, which earned a searing glare from Nines.

Sitting back at the bar, Dean ordered one more drink before turning back to Nines once again. "So you the leader or something?"

Nines looked at be out of the corner of his eye, as if the entire interrogation scene hadn't even happened. "No. No one's a leader here, no one's higher up on the food chain, the corporate chain, or whatever the hell you wanna think up. We're all equals here. That's what we don't like about the Camarilla. That's what we fight for." He seemed so dedicated, so sincere about what he was saying that it almost made Dean feel bad about calling them paranoid earlier. Almost.

They had a few more drinks before Dean was ready to pack up and head out, back onto the streets of LA. He grabbed a beer to go and promised to return to the Last Round at some point in the near future. As if. That place was a nuthouse, even if the people seemed okay… ish.

When he got back to his motel room, it took him a bit to get get the door open, as the cheap lock was stuck. Again. He started to contemplate simply knocking the door in, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the lock relented as if it had read his mind. When he flipped the lights on, he immediately noticed that the chick from earlier was still laying on his bed, passed out cold. It had at least been five hours, what the hell was she still doing here?

He struggled with his inner beast for a long while, not wanting to give in to it, but also not wanting to pass the opportunity up. Dean was a handsome man, sure, but really he was considered lowlife among most, and it was rare that he found a willing victim, even if he have to pay her. It could be a hell of a long time before he was able to feed again.

The temptation proved too strong this time, and he snuck over to the bed, laying back down against her. He had to argue with himself again, in a last minute attempt for reason to try and stop hunger, but eventually hunger one once again. He placed his teeth in the same spot as before, reopening the newly closed wound. Instantly, a wave of blood poured into his mouth, and he had to wonder just how little he had originally taken. After a minute, the blood began to mix with the alcohol in his system, and was creating a strangely addicting buzz through his veins.

He realized, after a while of indulgence, that he was drinking quite a lot. It seemed, unfortunately, that this buzz seemed a bit too addictive, and he ended up drinking too much. Damn. Dean had to force himself to pull away from the weakened vein to look at the poor woman that had somehow become his victim. Her skin was as pale as snow, and her breathing was diminishing to the point of nonexistence. He watched as she opened her eyes, looked at him, and let out one more breath before dropping her gaze and letting loose her muscles.

Cursing again, he got up from the bed in a hurry. Why, he didn't know. Running his hand through his rough brown hair, he sighed heavily before turning his gaze back to the woman. he walked back to the bedside and lifted the poor girl's body up. He brought her outside, searching for a dumpster to drop her body into. After a moment or two, he found one in the back of the motel lobby and quietly lifted her inside. He felt bad. Really, he did. But there's only so much a kindred can do after the events. Besides, she was living on the streets. It's not as if anyone would notice when she was gone.

Dean walked back to the motel room, and started to clean up the rest of the blood that had been left after the second feeding. He dabbed at the sheets, and his own mouth, and soon laid down to sleep.

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><p><strong>AN #2 - **Well! That was a bit of an introduction, huh? I know a few bits here and there are rough, but I lack a beta reader and my own scanning skills aren't what they used to be (so says the 16-year-old haha). I will likely go back and edit a few paragraphs that don't suit me, or maybe add a little more dialogue or something somewhere down the line, as I expect this to be my largest story yet, and I will probably grow a bit in style or otherwise as I go along.

As stated in the beginning, I will update this every two Fridays. So, that puts Chapter 2 at... January 24th, 2014. Hope to see you then! :)


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

**A/N - **A little bit later than I had expected it to be, but I still managed to get this out by Friday! I barely was able to eek out the ending, however, and you'll probably be able to tell. Though it isn't that important of a plot point, I think I will like to go back and add more to it at a later date. However, for now, it will be fine as it is. :)

_ StarGazers_ - Thanks! Don't worry - Dean is even goofier. Haha!And yeah, I'm not a believer in the vampire drunkenness either. But I suspect they can still drink it, and I figured some of them might still just like the taste, as is the case with Dean. Just something to do, I suppose.

_ aberdeenkev - _Thank you! And yes, this takes place somewhat - just - before, and during, as you will see in this chapter, to far after. (no spoiling though!)

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><p><strong>2. Of Boats and Pretty Women<strong>

A couple days after his birthday, Dean still hadn't seen Knox. It was starting to worry him, honestly, but he kept trying to tell himself that he was merely busy with the tons of shit Tung would always give him. It didn't help much. That nagging feeling of… wrong still stood over him. Though, to be honest, it wasn't really in his nature to worry that much, and the fact that he was worrying was what was worrying him most. If that made sense. ...Probably not. Whatever. Point is, he still hadn't had any of the fun that he had originally wanted.

Though that's kind of how it works in unlife. You live so long as a carefree kind of guy, you start to get bored real fast. Which could be especially deadly, since vampires, well… kind of live forever and stuff. And so ever since he'd moved to LA, he kind of took to walking around every night. Hitting bars, chatting with buds, or basically just sleeping away weeks at a time was really all that fitted into his schedule anymore. It was absolutely boring.

He had thought about getting a job, working his way up a corporate ladder, or maybe even simply getting a hobby, but really nothing ever seemed to interest him anymore. Everything that had originally been interesting to him died in the 60s, along with everything else that he had known and loved. Really, the past few years had been hitting him the hardest with the nostalgia. If only he had studied in his science class, he might be able to create a time machine. Though, honestly, he wasn't sure how realistic that thought was. Oh well.

Dean realized that he had walked all the way back to the Last Round again, strangely enough, and he wondered briefly if he had subconsciously wanted to come back here. But then, he wasn't really much of a deep thinker, and that wondering didn't last long. He didn't really want to go in, either, as his last trip hadn't been one of the most fun he had ever had.

As he started on by, however, something caught his eye. He turned to get a better view, and was instantly intrigued. A beautiful woman, with short black hair and pale skin, was walking gracefully from the Last Round. She seemed a bit miffed, and he took that as an invitation to try and make her smile, make her feel better. Grinning, he practically skipped across the street to meet her.

As he approached, she noticed him and scowled. Oh, such a lovely sight she was. If his heart was still beating, it would have beat out of his chest. He stepped right in front of her, getting as close as he could. He was sure that she needed a bit of company to wipe that frown off her face.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem at all better off from his presence. Typically, this wouldn't have surprised him, as he seemed to be a sort of pretty woman repellant. But she hardly seemed like a typical woman to Dean. So he leaned in, not letting her scowl bother him.

"Get out of my face."

Well, that wasn't a very nice thing for her to say to a perfect stranger, let alone one that simply wanted to make her feel better. He lowered his smile slightly, to try and subtly show his hurt feelings. "Ma'am, I simply came to comfort - " he had reached out to try and grasp her hand to do the gentlemanly thing and give it a slight peck, but she had yanked it back, cutting his speech off.

"Shut the fuck up, imbecile. I don't have time for this." She scowled once again, shoving past him and picking up the pace of her walking.

Dean jogged a bit to try and catch up, then matched her pace. "Oh, c'mon, I was only joking. I just wanted to say hi, how's it going?"

She scoffed then, not responding. Damn, she was a tough one to crack the shell of.

"At least tell me your name," he said slowly, trying to sound less like a lecher on the street and more like an actually nice guy. Surprisingly, she slowed down then, coming to a full stop. He had to stop and backtrack a bit to level with her again. She held a high suspicion in her eyes, and she seemed to almost distrust him. As if she had any reason to distrust Dean, a random man on the streets of downtown LA, at night. Oh, wait…

"And why should I do that?" she asked, apprehension still high in her voice, along with exasperation.

Dean smirked. "Because I wanna know. And because you just walked out of the Last Round, a place that I know very well. You wanna tell me what you were doing there?" Not the most friendly way of starting small talk, but at least it was something.

She laughed, though it was a bit high-and-mighty sounding. Was this chick a moneybags or what? 'Cause she sure acted like she was queen of the world. Already he didn't like her much. However, when she let out a particularly loud laugh, he saw the tiny tips of her canines. She was kin. Oops. "I'll give you that. Though I'm quite a regular myself, and I haven't seen you around much either…" she trailed off, but her tone made it sound like she didn't expect a retort. "Ariane Noel," she breathed out finally, her smile fading ever so slightly.

Dean grinned. She must have realized his being kin at the same time he'd noticed hers. "Dean McMaron."

She smiled wider. "Ah, so you're the one mucking up their little headquarters, then? Heard you were a bit of a brawler a couple days ago. Giving the boys a hard time?" She said slowly, as if testing for something. He had no idea what.

"Um, I guess you could say that, yeah. 'Cept I wasn't brawling. Just wanted to let the Anarchs know where I stand with them. I don't want any part of their stupid vampire politics, you know?"

She rolled her eyes, though still grinning. She started walking down the street, then, but slow enough for Dean to match her pace. "Tell me about it. They seem like they could be a fun bunch, but get to know them, and all they do is nag, nag, nag all the time. It's ridiculous."

They rounded a corner, passing another block. "What's their beef with LaCroix, anyway? I know they've got it out for all the Camarilla, but it's like the head honcho really gets to them."

She sighed. "Yeah, they've got a thing for little guy, y'know? And LaCroix, well… he isn't little. In fact, he's a bit of a bigwig, and I suppose it's really just they way he rubs them wrong. Just the kind of… person he is, really, that they don't like. They don't even know the half of it." She paused, looking down the street a ways before turning back to he with a cool gaze. "Sorry for the way I acted earlier, by the way. I'm not very popular around here, given who I work for. Everyone likes to pick on the pawn, I suppose."

Huh? "What do you mean? Who do you work for?"

She looked at Dean as if she didn't believe that he didn't know. As if she expected him to know everything happening in the world. Why didn't people actually believe that Dean was new here? "LaCroix. I thought you knew."

Dean was a bit shocked, but honestly, he didn't know the guy and he didn't know her, so he had no room to judge. "Um… no, I didn't. Though I don't care much, really. I don't know much about LA yet - I don't really think it's any of my business, either."

She looked at Dean as if amazed. "Huh," she said simply, rounding another corner and coming up to a taxi car. She paused outside the door, clutching the handle but looking at him as if expecting some sort of answer to an unspoken question. Finally, she sighed and said, "Well, goodnight."

He wasn't expecting that. Though, he should have been, given that she was just getting ready to get into a taxi and apparently leave. But he stood there a moment, staring at her, trying to think of something to say. Finally it clicked, and he took a step closer. "Where are you going, anyway? Maybe I could come along?"

She seemed a little caught off guard. "Um…"

Dean started speaking quickly. "I'm bored as ass out here anyway, and to be honest, I've got nothing else better to do. You're obviously going on a bit of an adventure… am I right?" he winked, grinning crookedly, like he knew all the ladies loved.

She seemed skeptical at first, but then sighed and scooted into the car. "Get in."

* * *

><p>It was a boat. A fucking huge boat, too. Well… not <em>huge<em>, really, but still… big. Called the Dane or something. Apparently she was running an errand for LaCroix, something he hadn't expected. Though, to be fair, she did say that she was his number one pawn, and really… what else do pawns to but run errands? But still. A boat?

"Jacobson never told me there'd be two of you! How am I supposed to let two reporters in without anyone realizing who let them in?" So apparently this wasn't part of the plan, but Ariane seemed to know what she was doing.

"My partner and I were very specific. We both need to get in, as we are a team and cannot do any shooting without the other," she said pristinely, putting on an air of superiority. Or maybe that was just her, he didn't know.

The cop looked her over, then Dean. He squinted his eyes. "Where's your equipment?"

Dean started panicking, but Ariane had it all under control. "Concealed, of course. How else do you think we'd make it to the security room without anyone noticing? We must be light on our feet if we expect to slip by silently." She paused, mostly for dramatic effect. "We've done this many times before; don't worry. You're job's safe with us. You have my word."

He seemed still reluctant, but finally sighed and looked her in the eye. "Fine. The password to the security computers is 'lighthouse', all one word. I'll distract the one over there. After that, you're gonna' have to make yourself real scarce. If you get caught, I don't know you. Got it?"

Ariane simply nodded, and walked back towards the side of the ship they came up on, and hid to let the cop do his job. "Get down," she whispered to Dean, pushing on his back to force him down as she dropped as well. He fell in beside her.

The cop saw that they were down and ready, and hollered out to the other cop blocking the way into a hall. "Yo, come check this out! I just saw a baleen whale!" Ariane kept rapt eyes on the other cop, and as he leisurely strode toward their 'inside man', she grabbed Dean's hand and tugged as she started her way across the boat again.

When they got to the other side of the room, Ariane took one last glance back at the two cops and ducked into the hallway. Dean was desperately trying to get a grasp on where exactly Ariane was going, but he was being dragged about this way and that, and had barely enough time to notice the large stains of blood along the walls, and doors that just wouldn't close. At first it seemed as if Ariane knew exactly where she was going, as confident as she was, but as Dean started to pay attention more, he realized they were actually backtracking more than they were moving forward.

Finally, after wandering through the small hall and the rooms connected to it, they reached a staircase. Having already tried the other doors in the lower level, she sighed and pulled Dean up the steps. At the top of the stairs where only two doors, and Dean thanked whatever higher being there was just for that. She chose the one closest to the top of the stairs first. Easing it open slowly, she peaked inside. Instead of heading on in like the previous rooms they had looked in, she quickly backed away and shut the door quietly. At his questioning look, Ariane whispered to Dean, "Guards."

Padding quietly over to the other door, she opened this one with more caution. Luckily, no one was inside this time, and she stepped inside. After a moment, she looked back outside the door and gave Dean a look. "Well, come on," she whispered. "This is it. One look at the cameras and we're out of here."

After Dean followed her in, she motioned toward a computer and a couple of monitors. They both huddled around the screens, and after a moment, Dean looked at her. "Well?"

She scowled at him for at least the tenth time that night, and turned back to the computer. "Hold your goddamn horses." She paused once again for good measure, probably just to piss Dean off, then, finally, typed the password into the computer.

The display on the other monitor clicked on, and on it was a distorted picture of an area on the boat. Dean figured it was a camera view, and sure enough, it flickered again to show another awkwardly placed angle. Dean looked over at Ariane, wondering what exactly they should be looking for. He was about to ask just that when another view popped up. Eyeing it closely, she gasped. "It's been opened."

"What? What's been opened?"

She motioned toward the monitor, pointing to the focus of the camera. It was some sort of fancy coffin, and had caution tape all around it. It looked like it could have been a piece of art in some fancy gallery, or something in a museum of Egyptian history or some shit. Like it came out of those old history books Teach' used to make him read. It looked as if it was sealed tight, but there was blood on the side, dripping down and puddling.

Dean was brought out of his observings by Ariane sinking from her crouch onto the floor, her hands splayed across her lap in defeat. "God, LaCroix's going to kill me."

"What? Why, all you did was do what he asked."

She shook her head. "Yeah, but he kind of has a thing for shooting the messenger." She sighed, letting her head droop for a moment before turning to the side and getting back up. "But it'll be fine, he'll just shout and pout, then send me on his next errand." She scoffed then, sitting back on her haunches and turning around. "Well, let's head out. We're done here."

Getting back was easier than it had been to get there, as they knew their way around now. Heading back out the door of the control room and down the stairs, the two kindred sneakily passed the guards from before. It seemed as if that baleen whale wasn't nearly as exciting as the one cop had made it out to be, unfortunately.

Luckily they passed everyone without much trouble, and climbed silently down the ladder on the side of the Dane. After plopping back down onto the boat, Ariane started up the engine and sped off into the night, a very relieved and tired Dean along with her.

Back in Santa Monica, they were about halfway through the parking garage when Dean finally spoke up. "So… Why exactly was Princess so interested in that coffin?"

It took a while before Ariane answered, as if she was thinking about an appropriate response. Finally, she sighed before speaking up. "I'm not really sure, honestly. I just got back from my job here in Santa Monica before he asked me to check out the Dane. Said something about an important relic that may hold a great power." She paused looking distant for a moment before turning back to Dean. "He tried to convince me and say that the reason he wanted it was because 'the power could fall into the wrong hands'. But I knew it was because he wanted it for himself. Whatever 'it' is…"

Dean thought a moment before they exited the garage. "Well, obviously it's a mummy or something. Maybe it's some old vampire guy."

Ariane laughed at that. "Well why the hell would LaCroix want it then? If there was some dead dude in there, undead or not, why would he work for LaCroix? Obviously if he's dead dead, then he isn't much use at all. If he's undead, he'd be a heck of a lot older than LaCroix. And the way I've seen it work so far, the older, the more powerful. If anything, LaCroix'd work for him."

Dean laughed at that, wrapping his right hand around the back of his neck to try and wring out the stress of the night. It had been a hell of a lot more busy night than most these days, and Dean was starting to wear a bit. Yawning after a pause, he turned the corner with Ariane in tow.

They walked past a few more buildings and came to an alleyway next to Trip's Pawn Shop. Smirking, Dean turned around to look Ariane in the eyes. "This is my stop. It's not pretty, I know, but it's mine - for now."

Ariane looked up at him, a bit surprised. "Actually, this is my stop as well."

Of course she would be living in the same building as him. That was the cliche, right? "Oh," he mumbled, before reaching for the door and opening it for her. "In that case, come on in."

Ariane still looked a little shocked, but she shuffled in anyways. Heading up the stairs, she looked back to make sure Dean was following her. Right in tow, as she had suspected. And grinning like an idiot. "I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to invite you in," she smirked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

He laughed at that, giving her an alluring gaze. "Not if you don't want to, sweetie." He paused, noting her expression. She seemed even more interested than before. Smirking, he nodded to the side, indicating his apartment that was only just down the stairs from her. "Or, if you want… we could head on into my place."

"Yeah, because going into the apartment of a man I just met on the street is a really smart thing to do," she said, though still smirking.

Dean put on a face. "Oh, darling, you wound me," he drawled out, mimicking a posh English accent. "I did so think we had grown closer than that."

She laughed out loud at that, rolling her eyes. "I don't actually think that's a saying. But..." she paused, looking toward his door, then back to him. "That sounded strangely like LaCroix, I gotta say it."

He scoffed. "I hardly think I'm much like your bossy-boss. In fact, I'll bet you we wouldn't get along well at all."

A loud laugh and a shove got him through the door and into his apartment. It took him by surprise, to say the least, but he wasn't complaining... much. The fact that she had started to attack his face, however, was another matter.

Her lips crashing into his repeatedly was a shock, but he didn't fight back. The searing kisses were pressed all over his mouth, and grazed his stubbled jaw and neck as they deviously trailed downwards. He was being pushed about the room, but he hardly noticed. Something was bumped and fell, crashing against the dirty rug. They didn't notice, or if they did, they didn't care.

A few more moments of awkwardly trying to steer Dean around, Ariane shoved him fiercely in the opposite direction. Suddenly, he slammed against a wall with a hard, painful thud. Ariane was back on him in an instant.

After the initial shock of the wall to his head, Dean started eagerly peeling off the clothing of his soon-to-be friend with benefits. He tried desperately to pull up her tight-fitted tanktop, but it didn't want to seem to budge, what with her wrapped tightly around his waist. After a struggle, Dean managed to pull away from Ariane long enough to pull it off her and over her head. She immediately latched back onto his lips.

After a long struggle, eventually - somehow, they both were able to get undressed and onto the bed. Throughout the rest of the night and through to dawn, Ariane dominated over Dean. He didn't seem to care though, as it had been quite a while since he had gotten any action. In fact, he quite enjoyed it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN #2 - **As I said before, I will probably come back and change that ending... Maybe make it more juicier, or longer, or whatnot. The internet went down at my house and I wasn't able to put this up until midnight, so it's a bit rushed. My apologies. As for the next chapter, it will be... *consults calender*... February 7th!

**EDIT - **Unfortunately had a bit of a busy couple of weeks. There will be an update on next Friday - February 14. Just for the wait, I'll be posting _two_ chapters.


	3. Part 1, Chapter 3

**A/N - **Short chapter, I know, and full of dialogue. But it kind of had to be done. Sorry for the wait as well! But happy Valentine's Day!

_Alia-Mael - _I know, right? It's what inspired me to try and write something - we need more of the Masquerade! Haha, but thanks for the compliments. :)

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><p><strong>3. The Corporate Ladder<strong>

Dean woke up to a pair of pants being thrown in his face. Spluttering, he pulled them off awkwardly and tossed them to the floor. Grumbling a couple unintelligible swear words, he sat up and blearily looked around the room. Just when he was about to lay back down, a loud noise brought him back.

"Ahem!"

He looked right at the source this time, his thoughts finally becoming coherent even to himself. Ariane, clad in a bright green tank top, dark shorts, and knee-high boots was staring back at him, her arms crossed. When their eyes met, she rose an eyebrow at him.

"You getting up anytime soon, loverboy?" she drawled, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

It was then that Dean realized he was actually naked. Not that he really cared, mind, it's just that it was a surprise. He ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair and sighed. Was it night already? He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. "God, Ari, it's…" he paused, looking sideways at his clock. "...midnight. Hm. Nevermind."

Ariane laughed, shaking her head. "C'mon. I want you to meet the boss."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, his eyes went wide. "Wait, what? Meet LaCroix? When you had to go on and on about how he was going to yell and have a fit?" Dean shook his head, grabbing a smaller blanket from the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders before getting up. It was still cold, man. "What makes you think he'd even want to know someone went with you? Wouldn't he be mad?"

Ariane laughed at the display, seeing Dean wrapped in the blanket like a small child. "He'll be fine. He's like a baby that got it's candy taken away." She sighed, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. "Besides, if you're there, you can take a few hitpoints as well. Though I doubt he'd dish many out on you."

Dean huffed, but walked over to his dresser anyway. "Fine. But only because I'm curious about this bigwig of yours. Is he built? He's gotta be rich, right?" Why the sudden interest in the personal affairs of this guy, Dean didn't know. Curiosity kind of killed him before, anyhow.

Ariane laughed again, pushing off from the wall and walking towards the door. "As if. He's the cutest little man you'll ever see. Rich, but… well, tiny," she laughed as she walked out.

Smirking, Dean pulled the rest of his clothes on and bounded off after her. "So he's a shortie? Aww."

She practically ran down the stairs and out the side door, into the alleyway. "Tsk. Don't let him hear you saying that."

They walked in near silence as Ariane lead Dean to the next street, and in front of the Asylum. There were people walking all around, and almost crowding the entrance to the nightclub. It was doing pretty good lately. Dean wondered if any of them actually knew who its owner was…

Ariane pulled Dean past the nightclub and farther down the street. The image of a yellow taxi appeared and Dean figured Ariane had called it earlier. Sure enough, she opened the door and stepped inside, scooting to make room for him. Getting situated, Dean shifted and pulled the door closed while Ariane told the driver where to go. Dean wasn't paying much attention, fumbling with the seatbelt and cursing when it wouldn't pull far enough. He let it go and snapped it back, pouting.

"Oh, get over it. If that's getting you frustrated, just wait till you talk to LaCroix," Ariane scolded, her seatbelt perfectly situated and looked absolutely comfortable, as if she sat in the seat every night. It only served to anger Dean more.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean turned from her and looked out the window as the city passed them by. "You're the reason I'm going anyway. If you get in trouble because of me, it's your fault."

"Stop pouting. You're acting like a child, Dean. If there's one thing vampire society won't tolerate, it's childishness. I'm amazed you haven't been dusted yet."

If Dean's blood could still move, it'd be boiling. "Look here, Ariane Noel. I might not be the most mature vampire to ever exist, but I'm sure as hell more experienced than you, and a shit ton older. So shut your yap and mind your place."

Ariane seemed to anger just as much as him. "Oh? You don't even know how old I am! I could be at least 300!"

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm William of Normandy." She was about to retort, but Dean wasn't done yet. "I can smell n00bness a mile away, fledgling. And besides that, why else would LaCroix employ you if you weren't expendable? Hm? He wouldn't risk killing someone old enough to have some sort of influence over his domain." He paused, finally looking her in the eye again. "I might not know the guy, but I know his type. You're a little babe, and he's using you to do his dirty work until you die off and he finds a new one."

Ariane was silent after that, excepting his argument. She knew she was just being used. She didn't care, she had other plans. But this Dean… had her confused. Finally, she broke the silence. "So just how old are you, then?"

He laughed, as if it was a silly question. "You're not going to believe this, but not very." When she didn't laugh at his obvious sarcasm, he sighed and said, "63."

"Alright, grandpa," she laughed, looking away for the moment.

Dean chuckled in turn, their previous argument done for the moment. "Hey, at least I'm not a great-grandpa. Or great-great-great-great-grandpa. We've got tons here. I'm still young too, compared to a lot of the LA kindred."

"True."

After around another ten minutes, the taxi finally arrived at what Dean assumed was Venture Tower. They were only a block or so from the Last Round, ironically, but Dean tried not to think too much about the political implications to that.

Ariane got out first, looking almost nervous, and waited for Dean to walk up next to her before she even reached the doors. They walked to the fancy double doors together, and Dean took the courtesy to push one open for her, following close after.

Dean immediately saw the receptionist. He was a burly man, dressed as a security guard. Well, it was night, Dean reasoned with himself. The daytime receptionist would be off now. Ariane walked up to the guy, smiling charmingly. "Heyya, Chunk. How's about letting us up to see the boss?"

"Sure thing, Pumpkin. He's been waiting for you anyways." He looked past Ariane, to Dean. "I don't seem to recall meetin' you before, though, sir. You with Annie here?"

Dean tried hard not to laugh. "Yes, Sir, I am."

Chunk grinned then, nodding. "Cool beans. I'll let the boss know you're comin' up. Elevator's a-waitin'."

"Thanks, Officer Chunk," Ariane chirped before grabbing Dean's arm again and pulling him up the stairs behind the receptionist's desk. He didn't like that he was being pulled around all the time, as it seemed to be happening every chance Ariane got. Grumbling, he pulled his arm from hers and looked her in the eye as she whipped her head around. An unspoken argument occurred, then she turned back around and headed up at a much more leisurely pace, Dean following a little farther back.

The elevator ride up was silent. Dean took the moment to check out the scenery. Of the small room. With plain wallpaper and some buttons on the wall. Yeah, truly inspiring imagery.

When the door dinged, and Ariane reached to pull at Dean, then stopped herself. Must have been more of a habit than Dean thought. Almost inaudibly, she growled in frustration and walked on, down the dark hallway.

The first thing Dean noticed was the darkness of the corridor. There were lights on the ceiling, but they just didn't seem to be turned on. Probably because kindred didn't need light to see in the dark. The kine that worked here during the day probably were the only reason why there were lights to begin with.

After what seemed like a mile-long walk through the hallways, Ariane led Dean through one more turn, and he immediately noticed the difference. There were two large, lighter doors with fancy markings in the wood. Light streamed from under the doors, a small crack between the wood and the floor. Of course this would be LaCroix's office. With a bigwig such as Prince LaCroix, Dean was surprised that he didn't work in a castle.

Ariane knocked gently, then pulled away from the door wearily. Was she scared? Then she grunted, as if exasperated, and walked forward briskly, pushing open the huge door and letting the light from inside the room flood the hallway and Dean's eyes.

Blinking, Dean followed Ariane inside and waited for the anger to come. Or at least some accusations as to why there was another guest with her. But there was nothing. Finally Dean actually took a look around, deciding that he wasn't going to instantly die if he noticed anything. The place was fancy. And huge. Blue wallpaper lines gold, intricate designs over parts of the walls, as if panelling different parts of the room. A hardwood floor, perfectly polished and pristine, demanded that Dean stay on the red rug in the center of the room.

Of course Dean defied it, and stepped off almost instantly. Though no one seemed to care, or for that matter, notice. Ariane had immediately walked towards Princess and had been talking to him for a while. LaCroix didn't even seem to acknowledge Dean, let alone care that he was there. Huffing in slight annoyance, he walked over towards Princess, taking in his sights.

The guy was a bit of a shortie, just like Ariane had said. He was dressed nicely, with a long coat disguised as a suit. Or maybe it was, and Dean had just never seen one like it before. Either way, it made him look nice and neat, tidy. His blond hair was swept to the side, neatly in its place where it could do no harm. His skin was deathly pale, meaning he was fairly older than most (as most kindreds' skin loses color as they age), and his eyes were an unearthly pale blue. He could be considered handsome by some, but to be perfectly honest, Dean didn't care at all. He was too transfixed with just how short the poor guy was.

It was then that Dean realized he was being examined as well. Princess was looking him over, suspicion held high in his eyes. Then he glanced back over to Ariane, a small sneer starting at his lips. "And you took this man with you?"

Ariane nodded, looking proud despite how much Dean knew she was nervous. "Yes, sir. He proved quite usef - "

LaCroix cut her off. "I don't care how he proved, fledgling, I only care that you disobeyed me." He looked as if he was about to explode, but then suddenly held it in control. A long blink and a deep breath later, he spoke again. "Did you at least do as I asked?"

"Yes, sir, I did." She reached into her bag and pulled out the papers they had acquired on the ship. "As for the actual scene, it was as if the sarcophagus had been opened from the inside. A handprint was on the side, and the lid was skewed."

"Opened?! How could it have been opened? That's not possible." It wasn't even as if he was angry, and Ariane seemed to relax at that. He was more disappointed with the outcome rather than her as well, which was also a relief.

"I did some research this morning, sir, and I believe they have taken it to the Museum of Natural History," she finished, looking proud with herself for being useful.

"Oh! Good, good. You must go there, and retrieve it. However, the situation will be the same as it was with the Elizabeth Dane. Do not kill anyone."

"Of course." And she started out, reaching to grab Dean once again but stopping herself. "Come on, Dean," she whispered, walking out towards the big doors again.

"Hold, kindred." Princess's voice sounded from behind Dean as he was about to walk out. Ariane paused too, looking back at her boss in confusion.

"Yeah?" Dean asked casually, refusing to be his puppy as Ariane was.

"You were truly useful to Ariane during her mission?"

Dean was a little caught off guard, having not been addressed otherwise through the whole meeting. "Uh… I guess so. I just kind of tagged along."

Princess seemed to think over something for a moment, before his pale blue eyes looked up at Dean with a new flickering idea behind them. "Would you be willing to do a job for me?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Do I get paid?"

"Of course." He looked back at Ariane, who had yet to leave. "Fledgling, leave us. Do your job, and I will have a reward for you when you return." And she left. Turning back to Dean, he offered a wad of cash. "This is two hundred dollars. If you travel to the address on this slip of paper," he said as he handed Dean a small piece of printer paper. "And find a man by the name of Alistair Grout, I will give you the other half of your payment."

Dean grinned, taking the wad of cash from Princess's hands. Chuckling in disbelief, he said, "Sure, man! Go to the house, find Grout, come back, get cash. Got it." And he walked out, ready to get his next pay.


	4. Part 1, Chapter 4

**A/N -** Almost the opposite of last chapters, but I promised a second chapter for the long wait! I hope you don't mind the lack of interactions here. I was really in the mood to write about Dean's experiences with Grout's mansion. I certainly found it weird enough.

* * *

><p><strong>4. Groutalicious<strong>

It was early - almost eight at night. The sun had only disappeared about an hour ago, and yet Dean still felt a little uneasy. He wasn't a wimp, of course, but some things just didn't fit into his schedule. Like going into a big, scary mansion in the middle of the night looking for some crazy vampire bigwig.

Stepping closer to the large gate, Dean reached out slowly to push at it. It was unlocked, and swung open easily. He thought this guy was crazy paranoid, why were his mansion gates completely unguarded? Just find the fucker and get out, Dean thought, and pushed it open farther so he could walk through.

Normally, Dean wouldn't be doing something like this. He may be a vampire, but that didn't mean he was keen on going into mansions to look for croaky old folks that just seem to disappear. But that's what Princess had asked for, and Ariane seemed to want him to go along with the boss. Dean hadn't minded at the time, but that was before he was confronted with just how fucking huge this place was. But Dean was doing a favor, and for all his antics and childishness, he was true to his word. And pay.

As soon as he started towards the front doors, he noticed them opening. A little freaked, he paused and waited for something to happen. Sure enough, a shadow walked out of the already dark interior and walked towards Dean. Dean couldn't make anything out until he stepped closer to the street lights. It was Nines.

"What are you doing here, dude? It's a bit weird…" Dean trailed, his suspicion rising. His first impression of the Anarchs wasn't the greatest, and now this?

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," said Nines, his voice sounding oddly more… delicate. There was an air around him that made Dean very uncomfortable.

"Why are you here, though? Did you even know this guy? Did Princess send you to do my job?! That's my money!"

"No. But I wouldn't go in there."

Dean sighed. This guy was out of his mind. "Just tell me what - "

"Pardon me," Nines said politely before walking around Dean and out the gates. Strange, really. Dean was starting to worry. What if Princess hadn't trusted him to get the job done and gave his money to someone else? Well, that didn't make sense. Don't pay your employee, but rather your arch nemesis.

Dean dismissed the idea as nonsense and walked onwards. He was going to finish this job and get his money if it killed him. Or, well, maybe a little bit before it killed him.

He approached the front doors. As if the mansion itself wasn't big enough, the doors towered easily over him. It was as if the whole place was saying 'You're an ant.' He reached up to push the doorbell, but there wasn't one. He then realized that there was a huge doorknocker. It was intricately carved, glossy eyes and extremely detailed feathers that turned into a fearsome-looking eagle.

Realizing that the doorknocker probably wouldn't be heard by a missing man, Dean took a deep (unnecessary, as he was technically dead) breath and grabbed a firm hold of the doorknob and turned it, pushing with enough force to ease it open silently.

The entryway was enormous. Just the quiet thump of his sneakers on the cold, linoleum floor echoed throughout the entire room. It was as if this place was built to contain a dragon... or two. The floors were a simple black and white tile. The walls, which stretched toward the ceiling, looked as if they were originally white, but had been worn and aged so much that they were almost yellow. Dark wood lined the creases of the room's corners, giving a well-balanced and architecturally ingenious design to the place.

Completely ignoring the aesthetics, Dean stepped lightly through the room. Even though the place was well-designed, there was barely any furniture. A dark red antique chair had been placed in the corner, but there was no other furniture to be seen. Fucking weird, he thought, before heading through the archway on the opposite side of the room.

The next room had the same tiling as the entryway, but the walls were a dark red - though it seemed as if they had been white before. Dean walked farther in, trying to step carefully. LaCroix had said that this man was literally insane, and he wasn't sure if this insanity equaled as paranoia. If it did, then there could be traps all over the place.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper pass by. It was like the sound a car makes as it whooshes past you, but it was quieter. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He shook of the eerie feeling and trudged on. He wasn't even close to being through here, and if he was going to find Grout, he was going to have to man up a bit. He passed through the room, and noticed a strange painting in the corner of his eye.

It was of a man - or something like it - with dark hair standing on all ends, as if in water. His eyes were demented, one looking out at the rest of the landscape, and the other directly at me. The background was composed of hundreds of colors, blending seamlessly together in a never-ending rainbow effect. Stars dotted below his face, and he seemed almost... scared of them. It was insane.

It was then that Dean realized the lighting in the room wasn't quite as clear as it was before. It was a sort of off-white when he came in - now it was an eerie sort of green, like when you stare at a bright light for too long before trying to look at something else. He blinked a few times before looking around once more and walking out.

As soon as he walked into the next room, he realized he was no longer alone. He whirled around to face the other presence, but there wasn't anyone there. He had heard someone there. He knew they were, and yet... he couldn't see them. Grout had mentioned in his recording that he was still studying psychosis. Did he have subjects? Were they just crazy humans, or were they Malkavian as well?

Cautiously, Dean took a few steps forward before turning left sharply and making a run for it. The telltale sound of Obfuscate - vampiric invisibility - could be heard behind him. A-ha! He knew it. A crazy, hostile vampire. He could deal with that.

He turned around again, making sure that he was quick enough to catch the beginnings of Obfuscate. Sure enough, he could see the rocky texture falling from thin air - almost as if an invisible bubble was shedding its dust all around the floor. The dust soon disappeared as well, but it was too late. Dean had already found him. He flung himself forward, and landed on... air. This guy was faster than he had thought. It would be somewhat of a challenge to get him.

Standing very still, Dean reached out with his ears. Again, his hearing was never very good, but it seemed as if it was the only thing he had at the moment. After a brief moment, he heard the wheezing of someone a little to the left. Lunging once again, he topple onto something heavy and solid. It was disorienting feeling something while seeing nothing. But Dean fumbled to find the vampire's arm against its will, and snapped it. A cry and some visibility later, Dean could finally see the little pest.

The vampire was young - incredibly young, as he still had flesh-colored skin and dark eyes. He looked almost human still, to be honest. Was he a thin-blood? Dean had only met a few in his time around the US, but he knew enough to know that they were just vampires with weaker powers and more resistance to our own weaknesses. The ones he had met looked human as well, but Dean still wasn't sure about this one. He seemed too experienced to be a mere thin-blood, and his use of Obfuscate was near professional - thin-bloods wouldn't even have the ability for something that powerful, let alone know how to use it properly.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, stomping on the hand of the broken arm. The Malkavian simply whimpered in pain. Dean rolled his eyes; this guy was such a baby. "Tell me. Now."

The Malkavian didn't even seem to realize Dean was there anymore, let alone asking him questions. Dean didn't have time for this. He kneeled down on the floor. The Malkavian's eyes didn't even move from where they were glued to the floor. Dean sighed, grabbing ahold of his neck and twisting so quick he wouldn't even notice. His body combust into flames, the skin burning and floating upwards as his skeleton merely disintegrated. In a matter of seconds, any trace that the Malkavian ever existed was gone.

Grumbling to himself, Dean stood back up and headed down another hall. He was sick of this place already.

He didn't even notice the rooms as he marched through them, for how much he was fuming. When he finally came back to reality, he was pushing through a large, wooden door. It was polished and pristine, much like the front doors had been, as if someone came out and cleaned them every day. he walked past them, pushing the heavy wood to the side so it wouldn't swing shut behind him. He watched too many horror films to ignore the similarities. He definitely didn't want a repeat of the clichés.

The room was huge, as the others were, but definitely different in nature. It was a library. It stretched to two whole stories high, the bookshelves lining every inch of the walls. The floor was actually carpeted in here. It was a dull, dusty green, with shaggy edges. There was a path of more worn carpet, where it was a slightly brighter green and the shag was laid down flat, as if it had been walked on far more than the other areas of the room.

He started up the path, stepping up a bit at a small inclination of the floor. It was then that he noticed the candles. There were three lined up on the wall, and on the center one was another crazy Malkavian. He seemed preoccupied with the candles, repeatedly pulling at the center one, giggling endlessly. Dean suddenly felt very sorry for these subjects. They were completely crazy, and probably didn't know much about how and why it happened.

Dean approached him and grabbed his head, twisting it quickly. The Malkavian instantly burst into burning ashes.

He started pulling at the levers then, because of course even with his precautions the door had closed behind him. He figured if the levers could move like they did, there would be a way to open something up so he could keep going. Sure enough, he soon pulled them with some sort of correct order, because the door behind him was opening slowly.

It was quite a while before he came across any other subjects. He wandered around the mansion, trying - unsuccessfully, I might add - to find Grout. He walked through long hallways, tall rooms, and wandered up stairways and through trap doors and empty areas. This place was like a never-ending maze, and he was trapped in it, like a fly in a spider's web. It was infuriating, to say the least.

As Dean stepped onto an upper-level room after climbing a mile-long stairway, he immediately felt different. He walked down a short hallway and realized exactly why: the room was small. He had gotten so used to being in such open places that such a normal sized room totally threw him off. It was fairly tiny, compared to other places he'd been in. Almost like a large-ish bathroom. The tile was the same, black and white checkered, and the walls were the same style it had been in the main entryway. He don't know why, but it felt like he was genuinely getting somewhere here. He stepped down a small set of stairs into another room.

There was a couch. A long, bright red couch like the ones he'd seen downstairs. The problem was: there was a dead guy on it. There were large gashes all over his chest, and a gnawed bite-like mark on his neck. It seemed as if Grout had handed a mouse to his snakes. Unfortunately, they didn't clean it out afterwards. The smell was absolutely disgusting, and the rotted meat wrapped itself all around the room.

Dean wandered into the next room, to try and get away from the smell. Strangely enough, there was a long, spiral staircase that, when he trudged himself up it, led to a brief walkway. It was made out of a study dark wood, with strong, thick bars along the sides. Unfortunately he couldn't get a real good look at the world below, as the tops of the railings were about an inch taller than him. Dean squeezed his head through the smaller bars next to him, and his eyes immediately widened.

He was so high up - in the mountains it looked like - and he could see the beautiful lights of LA below him. The buildings stretched into the sky as the cars whizzed by and he could smell the fresh, crisp air of the cold, dewy night. After taking a few moments to admire the view, he pulled his head back, and headed down the opposite way.

The next room, after exiting the stairs, was a smaller place than even the room on the opposite side of the tower walk. It was just like every other area, with the black and white tile and off-white wallpaper. There was a fireplace on the far left side of the wall, including two red chairs facing it. A decorated rug was centered underneath them, along with a table in-between. Dean didn't immediately recognize any of these, though, as his eyes trailed instantly to the two female Malkavians on the other side of the room.

They looked positively terrified. They didn't speak to each other; didn't even look at each other, as their faces were in their hands. Soft sobbing could be heard from their corner of the room, and he wondered whether or not they were any threat. In the end, he decided he would make a lot of noise and, if they alerted, he would kill them.

After stomping around and making a screeching noise like the idiot he was, they didn't even move a muscle. He wondered briefly if they had been brainwashed, but honestly, he didn't care much.

It was then that Dean realized that he was trapped in this room. The only door was the one he had come out of, and there was no other way around. Next to where the women were, there was a mirror of some sort that looked vaguely suspicious, but he wasn't able to get to it without alerting the two crazies near it. Awkwardly, he wandered to the edge of the room - next to the fireplace - and stuck his hand out, to run it along the wall for anything else mildly suspicious.

After a while of scanning, Dean was beginning to lose hope and turn back around, but his fingers grazed a strange set of designs on the fireplace. He pushed lightly on an area of it that seemed to pop out a small amount more than the rest, and... voila! The fireplace turned slowly, revealing an opening on its side. he slid through quickly to avoid getting trapped in it, and came out in an exact replica of the previous room. Including the two crazed women in the corner. Curious, he looked at the mirror once again and realized that the reflection had the table on the ground (courtesy of his own work while trying to make loud noises), while the room he was currently in did not. It seems the 'mirror' was actually a window. He wondered briefly if that was intentional, then shook his head and wandered on. He was ready to be rid of this place.

Dean wandered then into even higher levels. There were a few bland hallways filled with locked doors and absolutely no furniture, and then... he was on a balcony. Of the library. He growled in frustration, swearing. Had he gone in a complete circle?

He groaned irritably as he trudged on, walking near the bookcases again. Strangely enough, he found a small book on the upper shelves that was poking out a bit more than the rest. He reached up slowly for it, wondering if it was a trap or another lever of some sort, as this place seemed to be filled with them. When he tried to pull it, it wouldn't budge. So he pushed.

There was a loud creaking and a bang before he felt the floor rumble slightly. Whipping his head around, he tried frantically to find the source of the loud noise. After a moment's hesitation, he found it: a bookcase had swung open to reveal a secret passage into, what seemed like, a basement area.

Dean sighed before jumping off the railing onto the lower level. He walked slowly into the room, and already heard a dull ringing from down the hall. It was a strange sound - like a sort of humming of a machine. As he drew nearer, the noise grew louder and louder until it was almost too loud to hear his own thoughts. It was no longer a humming, either, but a sort of electrifying sound, like lightning whipping against a power cord repeatedly.

He soon realized why it sounded like that. When he stepped into the room, he found a huge device - like some sort of Tesla Coil. It had large, lightning-like beams of electricity hitting specific places along the wall and the floor. He could only come to the conclusion that it was some sort of way to power the mansion. He knew Grout was a genius, but he didn't think he was into wiring and such.

There was no way around the beams. If he got too close, he knew he would be hit - and there was no way of telling whether or not he would be able to survive such a large amount of voltage. He was a vampire, sure, but not even the undead could live through some things.

It was then that Dean found a lever, a little down the wall from him. Cautiously, he walked over to it and grabbed ahold of the handle. No shock. He grabbed a firmer hold and yanked it down. There was a sound, as if a shock was being squandered, and he turned around to find that only one of the beams had been shut down. He moved to the middle of the room, careful not to get shocked, and moved over to where he had shut off the beam. There was another lever. He pulled it, and another beam went off.

He followed this pattern until he was able to get rid of all the electric beams. Grateful for the noise to finally be gone, he moved quickly out of the room and onto the next part of the mansion. Honestly, this place was like a video game, what with its level-like rooms and puzzles.

It was a while before anything else of note came up. Dean wandered for quite a while through huge rooms and tiny balconies and crawlspaces that made him queasy. Honestly, he don't know how Grout ever made it around his own house.

He finally got to the basement kitchen. It was a very large room (like all of them) and had strange chairs and strapping devices throughout. There was a walk-in refrigerator, and as soon as he stepped in, he could smell it. The eerie sense of something not right and the pungent smell of Elder Vitae stung his eyes and drew him in. Elder Vitae was a very strong, powerful blood from a vampire who was at least a couple hundred years old. Why did he have any in his fridge? Better yet, how had he gotten it?

Resisting the urge to steal the blood - as it was a very alluring smell to any vampire, even older ones - Dean ran out of the fridge and back into the entryway to the kitchen. He looked towards the corner, and noticed a glinting metal in the dim green lighting. Curious, he stalked over to it. It was a key. He pocketed it, as you couldn't be too prepared here if you tried, and walked back.

The passageway to his right was a wide, open staircase, but... There was a metal door at the bottom. Strange, he thought, because the kitchen was big enough without another pantry, and it didn't look like the most welcoming place for a dining room. Besides, Grout didn't seem like he used this place but once every three years, and to be honest, Dean didn't blame him. It was creepy - creepier than the rest of the place, really.

But Dean walked on, ready to get through this place and leave. As he got closer, however, he heard the same sort of whisper he had when he first arrived. As if a silenced bullet was shooting past his ears very slowly. He turned around, but found nothing. He wondered briefly if there was another Obfuscated Malkavian, but it didn't feel the sort of presence he had with the first one, and there weren't any other signs of invisible persons. He forced himself to man up again and kept walking.

Once inside the huge metal doors, Dean realized instantly what this place was. The hallways were full of barred doors and padded walls. Every now and again he would hear a winded panting, or a soft sob. It was Grout's testing chambers. Every door that wasn't opened already or broken off its hinges had a man or a woman, bound in chains, whimpering in their corners of the concrete. Had they not been fed? They must be dried up and rotting - or at least scared to Final Death about anything and everything down here.

Dean knew he couldn't do anything for them but give them Final Death, and even that would be risky. They would no doubt Frenzy if they saw him, whether or not they could tell he wasn't human. Vampires with blood withdrawal were weak, yes, but anything could tip them off into a crazed feeding machine, and he didn't want to get in the middle of it.

After wandering through the basement for a while longer, Dean finally came to a place where he wasn't really sure he would be able to get out of. It looked as if the ceiling had fallen in, and he was able to look up and see the next room. He felt as if he got up there, he would be able to advance even farther, but the strange feeling was also accompanied by a self-consciousness. Would he be able to actually get out of here? Surely he could, as he had superior strength and dexterity, but... The puzzles and mazes of the mansion were starting to grate on his mental soundness.

Dean shook his head violently to try and get himself back to reality. Gathering all the strength he could manage, he grabbed ahold of some of the broken-in ceiling rubble and launched himself upward with all the strength in my legs and arms. He was able to grab a hold of the edge of the brake-in and managed to pull himself up. He was careful to walk around, though, because obviously the floor wasn't quite as stable as it should be.

The room was massive - almost bigger than the first set of rooms he saw when he first came in. The same set of floors and walls lined it, and no other furniture but a chair and a table.

Dean took another look around before walking - carefully - toward a small, uphill ramp. It lead to a large, wooden door with small intricacies all over it, not to mention the strange hooks that seemed to work as a lock. Luckily they were leaning up, and he turned the handle ever so slightly. The door opened with ease, as if it had been used many, many times before.

The door revealed a simple set of stairs. Figures. If you actually knew how many stairs he had climbed so far, you would be utterly amazed. Groaning, he forced himself up the staircase and into a small T-shaped hallway.

The next room, a little farther down the T hall, was a large-ish, circular room. It was instantly strange, seeing as there was a big bubble in the middle of the room, containing what, Dean imagined, was Grout's wife. She seemed almost trapped in a strange stasis inside the bubble, her arms spread apart and her head tilted upwards almost gracefully. Around the walls of the room were small indentions, clearly built for important trinkets of some kind. A few contained things like a watch, a flower, a small statue - really anything that two crazed vampires would think was valuable.

Dean was getting all sorts of uncomfortable vibes from this place, and made it a point to get to the opposite side of the room as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, it was locked. Grunting at the slight annoyance, he headed back down to the circular room and searched for some sort of lever. He couldn't find anything that looked like it would open a door, however, and started back towards where he had come from. Maybe this room wasn't anything but the place he kept his wife...

Figures he would trip on his way back. He had always been a bit of a klutz, though of course he had gotten damn good at hiding it. As fell, however, he bumped into the side of one of the displays in their alcoves. It was a record machine, and apparently the bump was enough for the stylus to hit the record, and it started playing. It was an eerie tune, like something from the 20's, but much slower and dry than it was supposed to be, like it had collected dust and been scratched and broken in many spots.

But it seemed to have triggered something. The bubble containing Mrs. Grout was turning, making her face the locked room. Dean got up from the floor and looked toward where she was now facing, and realized the locks that had barred the door were now up and against the walls.

Excited that he'd inadvertently figured something out, he borderline skipped toward the door, ready to move onto the next place and out of there.

Dean pushed past the door, and immediately felt the change in atmosphere. It was a sort of dark, humid feel to the room, as if it was softer and less cold. Almost stuffy. There was carpet lining the floor, and the walls were a dark purple. He realized then that it was a bedroom, with the wardrobe to the side and a bed on the far left wall. And on the bed... Was a skeleton, covered with dusted, dead vampire ashes, and a stake through the heart.

He don't know how, but he knew this was Grout's remains. He just felt like... there was nowhere else he could have been, no way Grout would've gotten past him, no rooms unexplored the primogen could have been hiding in. And the fact that the reason he was there to begin with was because no one had heard from him in ages...

Just then, a large explosion shook the ground from under Dean. It trembled, almost knocking him to the ground and leaving him confused. Why...? He ran out of the last door, and came out on a balcony overlooking the original entryway. Had he not noticed it before? He could have just grabbed a ladder?! He didn't have too much time to get angry at himself, as a man from the entryway was shouting at him. Dean was so unaccustomed to the presence of other beings that he was caught off guard; but only for a moment.

"Come out, Hellish fiend! You have lived your last days!" His accent was very heavy, though Dean didn't know where from.

"I'm not Grout! You've already killed him!" But Dean didn't know it was this guy, of course. But he was bad news, Dean knew that. Then, he realized what the previous explosion had been. Fire was starting to spread throughout the lower floor, surrounding him. "You're plan's worked out pretty well, huh?"

"Know your place, scum! I will deliver to you Final Death!"

This guy was boring Dean. But he couldn't jump down - it was consumed by fire. He had no choice but to run along the side railing, around the edge of the room. He saw out of the corner of his eye the hunter dude leaving the room, and presumably the mansion, before he was able to get to the other side of the main entrance. It was still too fiery to jump down, and so he ran to the other side of the railing, back down a hall, and through many rooms.

He could feel the fire burning through the rooms as he ran down several halls. Each either had burning debris or some crazed Malkavian on fire. Every room he tried either was locked or full of smoke and flame. There seemed to be no way out. He began to lose hope, the fire burning his eyes.

Dean reached the end of the last hall he could possibly find and rammed his shoulder against the door, pushing all his weight against it. He did it again, and again, and the last time it burst open with a protesting shudder. There was no fire in here, no smoked out windows. But there was also nothing else in there. Nothing but one, singular window.

He ran for it. Bursting through the glass and flying through the air, Dean closed his eyes and waited for him to splat against the ground. But he didn't. Like a cat, his hands and legs spread out underneath him like some sort of subconscious reaction. He landed on the lawn next to the front gate, completely and utterly unharmed. For a moment, he couldn't believe that he was still alive. A shuddering laugh escaped his throat and he stood up, ecstatic. He was still alive! Or, well, undead. Whatever.

Dean turned around, looking back towards the burning mansion. All the windows had popped open and fire was spewing out. The door was hanging open, as if someone had made a quick run for it. He wondered who that guy was. A hunter? Obviously, but was he special? Renown? He no doubt thought very highly of himself.

But who cares? Dean was finally free and out of that God-forsaken mansion. With a laugh, he started his way out the gate and got his phone out to call the cab. Time for a little talk with LaCroix.

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><p><strong>AN #2 - **As for the next chapter, expect it at March 7th. See ya then!

_EDIT_ - Next update might actually take a while. The end of school is totally messing with my schedule. But I will get it out at some point, I promise. It just might be after school is finally out. Heh.


	5. Part 1, Chapter 5

**A/N - **Sorry for the huge amount of time it took to get this tiny little chapter out. There were EOCs, then I have Finals coming up, and there was so much studying and being away from the computer that I was simply unable to get anything out. That's probably why this chapter's so short. I can't garuntee that it'll be another two weeks, since we still have school till late May, but I will try my best to get another chapter up on time. Also, sorry about the length of this one. It's more a transition chapter than anything - still, I hope you enjoy it!

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><p><strong>5. The Tantrum<strong>

"What the hell is taking you so long, Ari?" Dean shouted into his 1983 Motorola. He almost threw the cell phone on the ground. He was tired and desperately in need of some napping. Besides, it was at least 4 in the morning - it was getting very late.

On the other side of the line, he heard Ariane sigh. "I'm sorry, Dean, it's just that it's taken a little longer here at the museum than I intended." She paused, as if she was taking a moment to jog a bit before bringing the phone back up to her ear. "I may have done something… stupid."

Oh, god… "What kind of stupid?"

"Well… maybe I did a _tinsy _bit of murder. But not a lot!" she added in quickly before Dean could reply. "I'm sure there won't even be enough for the boss to get mad! He won't even know."

Dean groaned, exasperated. "What makes you think that Princess gets his info from the news? He's probably got some sort of informer, or maybe even a tracking device or something, I dunno. There's a freaking weird amount of technology these days."

Ariane laughed. "Now you really are starting to sound like my grandpa. But seriously, I doubt LaCroix would have gone to that amount of trouble. It's not like it's that important if some cop or two dies."

Dean paused. "Whatever. Just where are you so I can figure out whether to go on in or wait for you. 'Cause I'm tired of just standing around." He paused again, smirking. "Besides, I'm not nearly as much a scaredy cat as you. I can handle Princess just fine."

She scoffed. "Well, I'm in the area at least. Not sure what street, though. Just give me another five minutes. Maybe less."

Dean hung up. Maybe she was right - Princess wouldn't mind that much, right? He doubted it though. LaCroix was a very meticulous man, and Dean seriously didn't think such a screw up would simply pass over his head. To be honest, Dean didn't really want to be around when he blew up on Ariane. Then again, they were kind of a team now, working different jobs to further the Princess's goals. Kind of like secret agents or something.

He occupied his brain with these thoughts for so long that he didn't even notice the time passing by until Ariane pulled up in her cab.

"Hey," she said quietly, walking up to him slowly, looking almost out of breath - though that would be impossible.

Dean crooked an eyebrow at her. "Uh… hey?" he questioned, not knowing how to respond to this particular mood. It was as if she were shy or something, and it was completely out of character. "Ari, what's the matter?"

She turned to him quickly, her black hair flying with the momentum. "What do you mean? I disobeyed the boss - either he's going to kill me, or he's going to kill one of my family. I kinda don't want to go inside and tell him. Excuse the hesitation!" she growled, pushing past him and into the building with new fervor.

"Well, 'scuse me!" Dean whispered sarcastically, walking into the building behind her. When she turned around and eyed him, he shrugged. "What? I thought that you thought that he wouldn't know!" He paused, looking at the ground, confused. "Wait…"

"I was trying to be strong for myself! Of course he's going to know! There's no way he doesn't know everything that's going on!" she screamed, pushing past him again and walking up to the front desk. "Let me up, Chunk. I've got no patience tonight."

"Uh… Sure, ma'am. Is the man over there with you again tonight?" He looked a bit nervous. Poor guy.

"No."

"Alrighty then, ma'am, you can go on up. Elevator's a-waitin'."

She stormed past him, slowing down as she got to the steps. Immediately she looked worried again, but she didn't turn around. She stepped lightly up to the next level and waited for the elevator to arrive. Sighing, she called back, "Yeah, Chunk, he's with me. Let him along."

Dean, who was just about ready to get into a huge debate with the officer, looked up at her in surprise. For a moment he considered blowing raspberries at Chunk, but thought better of it and followed her up the stairs. As surprised as he was about her slightly moody mood, he couldn't blame her. If she had screwed up so bad, then yeah, she had something to worry about. But Dean hardly thought that LaCroix would go to such harsh measures. Surely Ariane was an important employee?

They made their way to LaCroix's office in silence. Ariane was obviously still trying to keep everything together, and Dean's mind was wandering again. It's been doing that a lot lately.

They got to LaCroix's office doors and Ariane hesitated. "I'm pretty sure that he can hear us standing out here, Ari."

"Stop calling me that."

"What, Ari?"

"Yes. Stop that."

"What the heck is your problem? You were fine with it yesterday!"

"Shut up. I don't need this right now. Let's just go in."

"Well I mean you're the one who was wanting to just stand out here…" he trailed off as Ariane opened the door, ignoring him and walking on inside. "Fine. Bitch."

She ignored him again and walked up to LaCroix, looking just as confident as ever. She was really good at acting around the boss, Dean was figuring out. He wondered if she ever acted around him. Probably. She was a bit of a deceitful little thing.

"Good evening, Miss Noel. Mister…?" He paused, his eyebrows slowly rising. "It has come to my attention that I don't know your name, kin."

Dean grinned, picking up his pace and heading towards the desk. His complete and utter lack of fear astounded Ariane, who was now at the far end of the room. He acted as if LaCroix was his best friend. But Dean ignored Ariane's strange looks and walked right up to LaCroix, taking his offered hand and shaking it firmly. "Dean McMaron. But you can call me Dean. Or D, but that's usually just what my friends call me."

LaCroix's brows stayed up high, impressed as well with Dean's bravery. "I shall call you Mister McMaron, if it pleases you." The handshake ended.

"Actually, I'd prefer Dean. Mr. McMaron was my dad."

Princess's grin instantly vanished. "I must disagree, Mister McMaron." He paused, picking up an almost empty glass on his desk before speaking again. "I trust the mission was a success?"

"Well… yes and no." LaCroix's face fell. "I mean, I got there, traveled all over the damn place to find your friend, but when I finally found him, he had been staked and baked. Sorry, dude."

"Grout's dead?! What?" Princess's eyes widened a bit at the news. And here Dean thought LaCroix knew everything.

"Yep. And there was some dude named Bach that basically set the whole house on fire. I dunno why, but I had a feeling that either he didn't know Grout was dead, or he was a really good actor."

Princess's brow furrowed in anger. "Bach! Every time I think he's lost the scent… So, Bach killed Grout to draw me out…"

"Heh, that rhymed," Dean murmured before coming back into his head. "Uh, I mean, that Grout was already staked by the time I got there. And I had the distinct impression that Bach had just arrived, since, y'know, he started the fire." He paused again, thinking. "So who the hell was he anyway?"

"Bach is a hunter. They stalk and kill our kind to appease their god. But like many mortals, their so-called faith is nothing but a conduit through which they quench their killing urge." He took a minute to compose himself, as it seemed as if he was getting angrier by the second talking about the hunters. Finally, he let out an almost unnoticeable grunt before starting up on the original subject again. "Who else would have killed Grout?"

"Well, the whole thing with Nines walking out of that creepy-ass mansion before I went in could be a bit of a hint, boss."

Princess's eyes widened. "Look at me. Are you sure it was Nines Rodriguez? Because if it was, the consequences..." he sighed, looking out the window for a minute. "Do you know where this might lead? Do you really have no idea?" He seemed almost distressed now, though Dean didn't know why.

"I would think someone'd go and kill him. Right? I mean, if some anarch just waltz up to one of the cabinet members and murdered him in his sleep, I'd feel like a little justice would need to be served," said Dean, as he looked around the room casually. When he brought his eyes back to LaCroix's, he was surprised to find Princess looking at him as if he had just sprouted horns.

"I take it you are not particularly fond of the Anarchs, then?" he questioned politely.

Dean thought for a moment. "Well, I've only actually met them once, and they ended up threatening me and almost kicking me out of the bar. So… no. Not really."

Princess nodded slowly in recognition before going on. "Under most circumstances, I would order a bloodhunt on the murderer immediately." Dean grinned at that, proud of his correct answer. Princess raised an eyebrow at him but continued. "However, the Anarchs of this city may interpret such an action as a declaration of war. I do not want a war with them. This decision will take some time…" his voice trailed off, as if in deep thought now.

"Well…" Dean started, before realizing that Ariane might kill him if actually brought up the subject again. At this thought, he grinned and continued. "You still have your other employee's story. Might make you feel better."

Princess looked aggravated at his choice of words for a moment, then seemed to register what Dean had said. "Of course. Miss Noel, I trust at least _you _have some good news?"

Ariane's glance towards Dean could kill. Or she would, if Princess wasn't right in front of them, waiting for an answer. And so she approached, cautiously, and began her speech for what was apparently an entire failure. "Well… I…"

"There's no need to be nervous, Miss Noel. I know of your incompetence when dealing with the guards. It's all over the news. I have decided to ignore that particular slip up for now, so long as you give me some sort of reason to allow it."

Ariane sighed, though Dean wasn't sure if it was relief or even more stress. "Thank you, sir. I got through the museum, of course, but when I found where the sarcophagus should have been, I saw that it was…"

"Yes?"

"…Stolen." She grimaced.

"_Stolen_?!" he shrieked, as if he was a child who had just gotten its toy taken away. "Stolen! How?! Who would...? Oh," a shock of realization washed over his face. "Gary. Gary, you treasonous maggot. I should have expected your treachery, sewer rat!"

It looked as if Ariane was about to say something, but she was cut off.

"Who's Gary?" Dean piped in, still sunshine and butterflies. Ariane was in shock from her boss's tantrum and her partner's composure through it all.

Princess looked at him then, his eyes still sparkling with anger. But he pulled gently at the end of his coat to straighten it out before trying to speak again. "The Nosferatu primogen." Dean gave him a look that said that wasn't enough information. "The Nosferatu were the ones responsible for getting the key to the museum. They were the only ones who knew! It's obvious to me now, my mistake…" he almost lost his temper again. But then he turned back to Ariane, looking determined. "I want him found. I want him..." he paused, composing himself once again. "found. The sarcophagus could be exploited, causing who knows what catastrophe to this city. If it were to fall into the wrong hands..."

"The Nosferatu lurk in the filth below Hollywood, but not even I know just where they hide. Hollywood is, unfortunately, lacking in Camarilla loyalties. Hollywood's baron is an Anarch, named Isaac. Isaac's more civil than the Anarchs downtown, but... nevertheless he wears his mistrust of me on his sleeve. He may know how find the Nosferatu. Find Gary and get him to talk. The sarcophagus could be used against us. Don't come back until you have it." She just stood, dumbfounded at the range of emotions she had just seem from her boss. His face twisted in impatience. "Go!"

And she scurried out of his office.

Dean was getting ready to follow her out, but Princess caught him. "Mister McMaron, I believe I have the rest of your pay."

Dean stopped immediately, turning around with a huge grin on his face. Swaggering back towards Princess, he held his hand out towards LaCroix, getting ready to take the money. "Thank you, sir. It won't go to waste."

He was about to turn around and walk out again, but Princess stopped him one more time. "I wish you to stay here in LA." This got Dean to turn around, his ears in rapt attention. "So far you have been a great help to not only me, but Miss Noel as well. In the time she has been employed to me, she has done what I asked, but also what I have not. And though you have not done as much for me, you have done a far better job that she ever would have." He paused, looking out the window. "I am benefitting from the employ, and I would like to keep it that way."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you want me to stick around?" he paused. "But not go with Ariane to Hollywood…?"

"Indeed. While I needn't your services now, I would ask that you stay anyway. With Miss Noel gone, I do not have anyone to work in this vicinity. Will I be able to contact you within short notice, should I need to?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. I can stick around. For a few bucks, I'd pretty much do anything. Thanks for the opportunity, boss."

Princess's eyebrows furrowed at the word 'boss', but if he didn't like it, he didn't say anything. The atmosphere was getting awkward quick, at least for Dean, and so he turned and left the building, counting the wad of bills in his hand.

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><p><strong>AN - **If everything goes as planned (they probably won't), the next update _should_ be on May 16.


	6. Part 1, Chapter 6

**A/N** - Oh my flipping flippers, it's been a while hasn't it? I've actually had about half this chapter done now for a couple months, I've just been so busy with other shit that I clean forgot I had it! Couple days ago I found it lurking in my old files and decided to finish it. Don't know if this means I'm back in the groove or not (probably not, given my track record), but I'm hoping to work on it more if I can! Betchya you didn't see this twist though... ;) Ehh, you probably did. haha Whatever though. Short, but I hope you don't mind. ^^;

_nekuromansa000_ - Thank you! Sorry for making you wait so long.

_Lemo_ - Yeah, I know, that whole chapter was screwy because I'd cheated and copy-and-pasted most of it from a standalone I did for a school project a while ago. When I wrote it by itself, I knew my teacher would have absolutely no idea what was going on, and for some reason I thought it would be simpler to explain vampires and disciplines rather than crazy human test subjects - not to mention more appropriate for school, haha. But you're right. I probably should have edited that chapter down more to actually be correct, but I was lazy. ^^; As for Dean's perkiness, I like to think of it as not so much not knowing what his clan is, but just knowing that he'll live forever and have superpowers. Which makes him feel pretty good about unlife in general haha. And yeah, Ariane's a toreador - the PC, as well, which I thought would be a fun idea to play with.

Oh my goodness sorry for such a rant! I'll just, uh, get on with the chapter then. Ehm.

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><p><strong>6. A Secret Revealed<strong>

A few nights pass by in a sort of slow-motion blur. Dean is used to the feeling of time slipping away slowly, but lately he's been feeling antsy. For some reason the little adventures he had gone on had him in a mood to do more, which was a totally alien feeling for the undead couch potato. He's been sitting in his apartment, occasionally going downstairs to hang out with Trip and Knox. But he just wasn't feeling… awake.

After stewing in this feeling for a while, Dean finally riles himself up enough to go back to Venture Tower and chat up Princess. He's kind of worried about the state of Ariane anyway, and it wouldn't hurt to check up on them. Maybe they had simply forgotten to tell him that they were going on their next run of chores.

And the fact that he's _worried _he wasn't needed for _chores _kinda scares him.

But he arrives at the Princess's building anyway, in a state of slightly less griminess, and swaggers towards the security officer/receptionist guy. Dean's never actually talked to the guy - Ari's always chatted up the people - so he thinks this could get interesting.

The officer, 'Chunk', looks up from his donut to see Dean approaching him. The vampire flashes his famous crooked grin and leans over the desk and into the security officer's face. "I'm here to see the boss. Please." He winks.

But Chunk only squints his eyes, the remains of his powdered donut still clutching to his face. "I don't remember him mentioning you tonight."

Dean sighs and leans back, rolling his eyes. "Yeah yeah. I was supposed to call earlier, but my phone was dead. You know me, too lazy to carry around that suitcase of a battery…" he trailed off, losing his train of thought for a moment. He thought about the possibility of actually getting an upgrade from his phone finally, but then realized he was still in the middle of trying to talk to this guy. Vampire ADHD, maybe? "Uh… It's, ah, well a personal matter, you could say."

Chunk just kind of stares at him for a moment, looking almost as if he's going to sleep with his eyes open. Then he jumps up, his face contorting into an embarrassed smile. "Oh, uh…" he stammered, wiping his face and fumbling around, as if not knowing what action to take next. "I had kind of, maybe, though for a while that Mr. LaCroix was 'that sort', but hadn't really, actually thought that…" he trailed off again, his face still bright red.

It took a moment for the embarrassment the officer was going through to register right in Dean's brain, but when it did, he jumped, waving his hands about with his eyes wide. If vampires could blush, his face would be a tomato, he thought. "Oh! No, no, no, no, no! No way. Not _that_ kind of 'personal matter'! Jesus, dude! What kind of sick fuck do you think I am?"

Chunk's lips thinned into a straight line. "Now, I try not to judge you types of folks, I do. I like to think I'm a nice guy. Just… don't go telling me all about it, sir."

Dean groaned and smacked his hand across his face, dragging it down and his skin with it in exasperation. "Dude. It's not like that. Just…" He sighed. "Just let me up."

The security officer stays quiet for a moment, assessing Dean. Then he leans down and pushes a button on his phone.

"Yes?" came LaCroix's stern voice from the other end of the line.

"You got a visitor here, sir. He's the same man that walked in with your other employee a couple nights ago. You want me to let him up?"

"Yes, yes," said Princess, seemingly far away. Was he even paying attention?

Chunk let go of the button and looked up at Dean with narrowed eyes. "Well, boss says you can go up. But if you cause any trouble, know I'm right here to haul you off to the big house, if I need to." He shakes his fist a bit.

Dean has to physically keep his eyes from rolling. "Uh, yeah. Sure, dude. See ya." And he walks quickly around the desk and back to the elevators.

When Dean reaches LaCroix's office, he immediately notices Princess's mood. He's pacing, occasionally stopping to look out a window, then moving towards his desk to look at some papers, then begins pacing again. His hair is slightly skewed on his right side, but that seems to be the norm for him. Dean briefly wonders if it's a cowlick or something, then wonders why the _heck _he would even care about a stupid _cowlick_, and strides towards his boss. "What's up, man? Ari killing more police or something?"

The Princess spins on Dean, his eyes blazing with anger for a moment before he composes himself. He must have a lot of practice at that. He straightens his tie a bit and walks toward Dean. "If you must know… yes."

Dean's eyes widen a bit, then he nods. Of freaking course Ari's pissing about making the head honcho mad again. She seemed to like doing that. "What the fuck has she done now, then?"

LaCroix shoots him a glare. "You must be unaware of my intolerance for vulgar language, Mister McMaron, elsewise you are purposely attempting to anger me further." He sighs, and turns around to step towards the window again, the anger seeming to recede for a bit. "But if you truly wish to know… She has done nothing wrong, yet."

"Yet?"

LaCroix shrugs, a weirdly human-like and casual thing for a Princess to do, Dean thinks. "Lately, she has done nothing incorrect, no. Of course her past exploits still do impede upon my thoughts. I have to wonder…" he paused, glancing behind him at Dean for a moment. "How much do you know of Miss Noel?"

Dean scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh… nothing, really. Though she seems cool and all."

Princess scoffs. "Indeed..." he trails off, staring out of the window and at the view of the city below him. It was night, but as it is every night in LA, it wasn't dark. The lights of buildings reaching as far as the eye could see illuminated what would be pitch black. Dean often took comfort in the bustle of the city, strangely enough, and apparently so did Princess. "Tell me, what is your relationship with the anarchs in this area?"

Dean quirks his eyebrow and rubs the back of his neck. "Hell, I dunno. They're alright, I guess. Real uptight. You'd think they would be a little more laid back, but shit, they're about as cool as a bitch in heat about you guys. Paranoid." He cleared his throat and let his shoulders relax. "As for my 'relationship' with them... not so great. Thought I'd get along fine with them, but I dunno. Just not the type, apparently."

The Prince seems to contemplate this. "I must admit, I am surprised by your admission. I was expecting more loyalty than that."

He couldn't help the bit of laughter that came up with that. "Loyalty? To some dudes who I only met once, and who threatened me when I only wanted a beer for an hour or so? Nah."

"I... has been informed that your relationship with them ran deeper than one encounter. It seems I have been lied to. Again." LaCroix closed his eyes, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Under his breath, he murmured, "She is becoming more trouble than she is worth..."

"I take it you're talking about Ariane again?"

LaCroix doesn't answer him, but looks up and takes a couple steps closer. "You have proved to be quite an asset lately, Mister McMaron. While your loyalty relies solely on monetary gain, I am grateful for it nonetheless. And since you seem to have no ties to the anarchs of this city, I am going to divulge a piece of information to you in hopes that you accept a proposal."

Dean takes a deep breath, his eyes a little wide. "That was a lot of words you just said there. But, uh... I think I got the gist?"

Princess just raised an eyebrow and ignores the comment. "Miss Noel is a spy."

Another long, drawn-out silence. Then: "Ye-e-ah, I could see that."

"You aren't surprised?"

Dean squints his eyes in thought. "Nah, not really. I mean, I knew she was some tough shit, but really, she was kind of... off about you and her job here from the start. Kind of like she was standing up for you too much. No offense," he said quickly, though LaCroix didn't seem to care. "And the fact that she was walking out of the Last Round when I met her - and then even dogged them up with me afterward - seemed too... easy. You know what I mean, boss?"

"I... suppose so. I was not aware you were quite so observant."

Dean grinned. "Yep. That's me. Observant guy."

Princess just looked at him like he couldn't believe the sheer amount of stupidity in this guy. "Of course. I did, however, have a point in relaying this information to you." Dean was listening. "i want you to be my double agent. A spy for a spy, if you will." Dean just kind of stared at him, the words not quite registering with him. LaCroix, not for the first time, questioned his actions. But as it was, Dean was the only loyal employee he had. "I will pay you handsomely for your service."

The idea of money brought Dean out of his haze. "Oh! Uh, I... Spy on the anarchs for you, huh? I guess it would prove them right about the Camarilla being everywhere, which is kinda funny." He grinned again. "Sure. Not like they weren't dicks in the first place anyway. And ironically, you seem the most reasonable sort, let alone decent." He stuck out his hand to shake. "Sounds like a deal, boss."

LaCroix took his hand in a firm grip. "I will pay you extra to stop calling me 'boss'."

Dean grinned wickedly, nodded, and started out the doors to LaCroix's office. "You got it, Princess."


	7. Part 1, Chapter 7

**A/N** - Lots of dialogue in these past couple chapters. And they've been really short, I know. The next one will be a lot like that as well... ^^; Sorry guys. BUT the chapter after, chapter 9, will _really_ pick up, I promise. Like, seriously. Really excited.

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><p><strong>7. The Nature of Caitiff<strong>

You know, the atmosphere in there wasn't even that bad. The music was loud - fairly distasteful as well. The drinks were bad, the patrons were rude... it was great.

But for what Dean was doing now, it wasn't really the best of circumstances. Trying to question people when the music was loud enough to melt your eardrums was hard enough. Questioning paranoid freaks who weren't on the best of terms with you was even harder. Especially red-haired bitches who don't seem like they even know _how_ to be even _barely_ civil. "Please," growled Dean through his teeth. "Just answer the question."

"Why the fuck should I?" she shouted, her arms crossed and her eyes glaring into his non-existent soul.

Dean was seething at this point. "Because it's a simple _fucking_ question! What is so hard about telling me what product you use to _dye _your_ hair_?!" he screeched, waving his hands about in exasperation. He hadn't even gotten to the hard questions yet!

He could see the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching, before she finally rolled her eyes and simply walked away from him. It seemed almost painful for her to do so, and Dean thought that maybe that was a rare occurrence. He didn't know why she would actually try and hold back on him - she seemed one to not give a shit about who she did or didn't beat up.

But he went about his own business and let her go. She wasn't the only anarch here, and he had thought he'd start out with the toughest from the beginning, so it was supposedly downhill from here.

Dean thought he might check upstairs. Maybe the ones he hadn't met yet could be more forthcoming. Or maybe that guy that kind of looked like Rob Zombie might talk a little more. He got upstairs and recognized two of three guys. There was a black guy in the corner that he hadn't met before, the one that looked like his brother or whatever, Niney or something like that, and Rob Zombie on the far side of the room. Black guy was glaring pretty hard, but Niner was just kind of ignoring him as he walked across the room to Rob.

The man was still disgusting, but Dean wasn't one to judge too harshly on that. He'd had quite a few lazy days himself. "Hey, uh... Jack, was it? I'm back." He put on his best shit-eating grin he could muster. "How's unlife?"

Jack seemed to appreciate the grin, and returned it ten-fold. "Just fine, kiddo! Gotta ask why you're back, though. Thought you were more interesting in the prince."

Dean walked over to the wall to lean against it. "Yeah, yeah. I mean, I like him an' all well enough, 'cause he's payed me a shit-ton to do his crap. But... well I like to stay neutral. Really, I hate politics anyway. Only reason I like him more is cause money, honey." The grin came back, and despite what he had said, Jack smiled too. Dean liked this guy already. "But yeah, I've come to ask you a few questions. Just kinda wanna know where I should be if the need arises, y'know?"

"Sure, kiddo, I get it. As for the whole likin' LaCroix better... I don't care, I like to let others form their own opinions, but don't go shoutin' that through the 'Round, 'kay? Other guys might not take as kindly."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." He looked away for a moment, to look around the room and make sure they weren't all watching him. "Just wanted to ask about the Camarilla, Sabbat, Anarchs... stuff like that."

Jack wiped his nose with the back of his hand and snorted loudly. Gotta say, quite charming. "Well, the Camarilla's basically like the government of kindred, with a whole hierarchy an' shit. Sabbat are just a bunch of assholes that like to 'strut their stuff', and the Anarchs think that what the Camarilla preaches is redundant and stupid, and just plain ol' common sense that don't need any rules to lock us into it. What do you wanna know about first?"

Dean sighed, ready to learn some shit for the first time in 45 years. "Uh... how about start with the Sabbat, 'cause I've got no idea about them..."

* * *

><p>As Dean finally left the Last Round, he thought he might go ahead and look up Knox again to see if he was around for a little fun. God knows Dean needed it. He called, but got voicemail. Tung probably had him out doing more shit for him or something. So Dean headed up to Tung's place, hoping that maybe the nossie would lead him to his best friend.<p>

Picking the lock on the metal gate and pulling it back slightly enough for him to slip through, Dean thought again about why the hell Tung was hiding out here. Tung told Dean and Knox - and anyone else who might wanna come talk to him, Dean supposed - not to come in through the gate, but Dean had no other choice. The sewers were simply _not_ an option. But still. Couldn't figure out why he was hiding. Voerman obviously knew where he was, but who was Dean to question a nosferatu? They kind of knew everything.

Approaching the abandoned oil tank, Dean peaked around the corner of the opening in the side and saw Tung alone. Damn. Tung was a cool guy, sure, but not who he was looking for. Still, he walked inside, knocking on the metal casing to announce his presence. Probably wasn't necessary, but it was kind of a common courtesy. "Yo, Tung? Got time to lick something for me?" Dean snickered, thinking himself quite punny.

Tung turned around quickly, but already knew who it was. Dean tended to be extremely reckless and arrogant. One of the reasons he had such a soft spot for the kid. "Oh ha ha. Very funny. I've never heard that one before," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He motioned Dean to come further in. "So what the hell are you doin' here, kid?"

Dean walked further in, towards Tung's 'hideout'. "Nothin' much. Just looking for Knoxxie is all. Thought I might stop by."

"Knox is out finding more information about possible Kue-jin in the area. We got rid of the one - or rather that new chick did - but I've heard word that there could be more around. Goddamn Chinese..." he trailed off with a grunt. "Never mind. He's not here."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah no shit. I've already figured that out. But I thought I could hang out here for a while, that alright? I've got nothing else to do." Before Tung answered him, he plopped down on the disgusting mattress and made himself comfortable. "Kinda wanna get away from downtown, anyway. Stick around home for a while."

Tung walked up beside the mattress, leaning on the computer-table next to it. "Yeah, I hear you're hangin' out with the big man upstairs lately. Care to share?"

"Wait, who? God?"

The laughter that ensued sounded rough and almost painful. It was always like that when a nosferatu _really_ laughed.. "No, you idiot. Prince LaCroix!" he barked out. "Fucking 'God', kid. You crack me up."

Dean grinned, not realizing that Tung was laughing _at_ him. "Oh, shuddup." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But yeah. Princess has got me running around doing shit for him lately. Paying a boatload, though, so I don't mind. Keepin' me fed, he is."

"What are you, Yoda?" Tung shook his head. "I can't believe you, though. Workin' for the head honcho. You never seemed like you were interested in being a pawn before. But hey." He held his hands up in a half-assed surrender. "Not one to judge. 'Loyal to my clan, loyal to my primogen, and therefore, loyal to the Camarilla.' And the Prince, I guess."

An awkward chuckle escaped Dean without him noticing, a new topic brought to his mind. He had always been fascinated with clans, as he had said before, and they were kind of a big deal around here. "So remind me again what a primogen is?"

"Right, right, you're not really into politics, are you? Primogens are the leaders of a clan in a prince's domain. They're voted on by the Camarilla clan members and approved by the prince. Nosferatus' primogen is Gary Golden. Kind of a hotshot, but real good at what he does. Good at keeping us together." He shifted a bit on this computer side-table thing. Someone should really move that, it doesn't look stable. "What clan are you? Can tell you what your primogen is."

Dean reached up to rub the back of his neck again. "I, uh... don't have a clan. I thought you knew?"

Tung's beady, orange and black eyes widened in shock, and his back straightened slightly on the computer. "No, I didn't. So do not have disciplines, or are you just without a sire?"

Dean groaned in frustration and stood up from the mattress. "See, that's the thing. I always thought that being Caitiff meant only that you didn't know your sire, but then I hear some people say that you can be Caitiff by not manifesting clan disciplines - and still not being thin-blood - but I don't know which one it is, 'cause I don't know my sire, or my clan, or my disciplines 'cause I can't do any of them! So no, I don't know which one I am. Though I hear the kin that just don't know their sire don't get quite as bad a rap as the ones who actually _don't_ belong to a clan," he rambled on, grabbing at his shaggy hair in exasperation. He was getting real tired of having to answer this question.

"Whoa, whoa, kid. Calm down." Tung held his hands up. "It's fine. I just didn't know. Though if you don't know your sire, you most likely just don't know _how_ to use your disciplines, don't worry about it. A lot of Caitiff end up manifesting them randomly at some point or another in their first 100 years, and a lot of times that helps them figure it out. You'll know your clan sooner or later."

Well, Dean was stressed now. He didn't feel like talking anymore either. "Yeah, I hope you're right." He turned to leave the oil tank, his back to the sympathetic nosferatu. "See ya later, Bert." And he went home.


	8. Part 1, Chapter 8

**A/N** - Another real short chapter full of all kinds of dialogue. Sorry about the monotonous-ness of these chapters lately. I've been kinda busy and just pumping out about 500 words a sitting, and that tends to leave the piece a bit jumbled and less exciting, I've noticed. No guarantee on the length, but I can promise you guys that the next chapter will be a lot more exciting. We're nearing the end of part 1 even (this is a 3-parter, did I ever mention that? haha), and I'm really excited to finally jump out of the constrains of the game's canon storyline. While it might turn back into a bit of a drag then, you can be sure that it's my own drag! haha But yeah, hope this one isn't too boring. We're finally getting Ariane back, with a big, uh... *cough* sarcophagus *cough* in tow. Enjoy!

_lukas - _Thanks for the support! I'm glad you like it so far.

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><p><strong>8. Because Sarcophagi are Heavy<strong>

"So you live in Santa Monica, eh? You know, I worked there for a time myself! Guarded a real swanky art gallery, top-security job too," said Officer Chunk excitedly, his face lighting up at the pleasant conversation. "Where d'you live at? In Santa Monica, I mean."

Dean sniffed and leaned against the reception desk, grinning lightly at his new _favorite_ officer. "Up in the apartments above Trip's Pawn Shop."

Officer Chunk's face fell a bit, though he picked up his grin right away for fear of being rude. "O-oh. That place, uh... It's real nice. Heard it's, hm, homey."

Dean couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped him. "Don't worry about bein' rude, Chunk, I know that place is a dump. It's just I'm poor and Trip's my gho- uhm, my best friend. Helps me keep up on all the new tech these days. Feeds me every once in a while, too. Real nice guy."

"Ah, of course he is! Fine establishment, the Pawn Shop. Right across from my art gallery, even. Have you ever visited?"

A look of false guilt flashed across Dean's face. "Eh... Not really my thing, art. Y'know how it goes."

"'Course," Chunk nodded in agreement. "Me neither. I'm more of a sports man myself. Football. Well, ah, fantasy football. Where I got my name, in fact." He grinned proudly.

"Tsk. You don't say? I'll have to ask you about that sometime - uh." Dean's Motorola starts ringing. "Hold up, Chunk. Gotta take a call real quick."

Officer Chunk waved his hand. "Of course, sir. You go right on ahead."

Dean nodded a thanks and answered the phone. "Ariane? You here yet? Princess is getting a bit pissy waiting around for you and his precious sarcophagus. I thought you said you'd be here by now," he grumbled, tired of having to wait in the lobby of Venture Tower for the past hour an a half. She'd called earlier that night, announcing that she was finally returning with the prized possession after like a week of searching and doing favors for people. Dean didn't even want to know what _kind_ of favors.

Ariane seemed utterly PO-ed. "I can't fucking get this fucking thing out of the fucking truck!" she almost screamed. Dean heard a loud bang and something like heavy metal sliding against heavier metal and then a loud-ass crash. And then more profuse swearing.

A roll of his eyes and a sigh later, Dean replied: "Where are you? D'you need help?"

Another shout that almost broke the phone - Dean could feel it. "_Yes I need some goddamn fucking help, you _bastard!"

"Holy shit, Ari, calm down. I'm coming. Just tell me where you are."

Some more crashing and banging, another swear or two or three, and the phone was dropped. Dean could barely make out the yelling so far from the mouthpiece. "Fat Larry's corner!"

Dean clicked the phone off and started out the door in a hurry. "Sorry Chunk, I gotta go real quick. Be ready with the door open, there's a big box comin' in."

Running down the sidewalk to hear loud noises and the same ol' swearing, another voice joins in as he swings around the corner. "Yo, lady, watch'ya try'n ta do? Murder ma merch?" Fat Larry.

Dean walked around to the back of the truck to see Ari struggling with the sarcophagus, heaved over her shoulders and hanging halfway out the back. It looked as if the back end had a sort of feathery attatchement, and it was about to break off on the roof of the truck, and some of the details on it were scraped up and down from trying to jiggle the damn thing out. Her phone, a much more modern version of the cellphone, was laying crumpled on the ground a couple yards away, as if thrown.

Dean immediately jumped up into the truck, climbing over the coffin and trying to untangle the feathery-thing from the ceiling. "How the hell did you get it in here anyway?" He paused. "And why does it smell so weird in here?"

Fat Larry cleared his throat. "Oh, dat's uh nothin', man! Jus' a lil pick-me-up, y'know, brotha?"

A roll of his eyes later and a few pushes to the side and the sarcophagus was free, flying out of the back and flinging Ariane to the ground with a heavy thud. Her leg was trapped under it, and she swore again and again. Dean thought she would have run out of them by now. "Holy fucking shit, Dean! You could have warned me!" she shouted, shoving the thing off of her and flining her leg around to inspect it. It was injured, but nothing a little blood couldn't handle. She took out a bag and sipped it, then stood up. Fat Larry showed no reaction, guess he was cool with it. At Dean's confused look, though, Ariane explained: "Ghoul."

"Ah." Dean grabbed one end while Ari grabbed the other, and they started their way walking back to Venture. "So took you a while to get this, huh?"

Ariane growled at that, clearly still not in the best of moods. "Yeah no shit, Sherlock." She turned around to go in backwards while Chunk held the door open for them. He looked about to say something, but Ariane just glared daggers at him and he shut right up. "Fuckin' Hollywood to deal with fucking tzimisce. You know what a fucking tzimisce is?!" Dean readied a reply, but Ari cut him off. "You don't want to." She closed her eyes, suppressing a shudder that would make her drop the sarcophagus.

They maneuvered around the stairs and struggled to get it into the elevator, debating whether or not they should stand it up on its end. Either way, there was no way around it, and They just shoved it in and squeezed in after. "Then when I finally found the nosferatu, they wanted me to do even more shit for them before I could find the damn thing. I had to go to Chinatown, with fucking kue-jin, vampire hunters that made me run through tests like a guinea pig, and just one guy after another that knew another guy that could help me, as long as I did something else for them."

She ranted on after they struggled to get the sarcophagus back down on it's back and started through the halls to Princess's office. "And then once I finally got there and found freaking Barbarus, Gary told me I had to go to some necromancer clan's house party and play some politics before I could fight some zombies and some Chinese Wolverines."

When they finally get to the door of the Princess's office, Dean drops his end and opens the doors, then runs back around to grab the edge again to lift it the rest of the way. "Sounds like fun," he manages to say before he hears the pounding feet of an excited Princess.

"Is that the Ankaran Sarcophagus? Is it finally here?!" the Princess practically squeels, walking over to them quickly in his forgotten sense of composure.

"Yepparoonie, buckarroey. Where d'ya want it?" Dean asks, and Ariane glares at him as if he had taken credit for finding the blasted thing.

That's when another kindred, with a dark brown trench and weird sunglasses that shielded from those incredibly bright red eyes, stepped up. "Over by where the couches used to be, please. We've cleared a place out of the way for it, so that I may study."

The two younger kindred hauled the thing over to the side, letting it practically fall from their grasp when in place. "Shit, that was a pain in my ass," murdered Ari.

Apparently either the Princess was too excited about finally having it, or he didn't hear it, because he didn't call her out on it. Instead, he ran over to it and started running his palms over the lid in awe. "What have you assessed so far, Beckett?"

Beckett eyed him warily. "Unfortunately for the heralds of doom, it appears we _won't_ be opening Pandora's Box. the markings, as far as I can tell, as of Assyrian origin - an extraordinary piece, but nothing earth-shattering."

LaCroix seemed to be barely holding in his excitement, however. "I see. Then there is no good reason why we _shouldn't_ open it." He starts pushing on the lid, but fails completely to even budge it. "Beckett, do you see any mechanism for the lid?"

Beckett glared at him in exasperation. "I haven't, as yet, been able to pour over it with a fine-toothed comb. I think I have one in my bag," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Pushing harder and growing steadily frustrated, LaCroix turns to Ariane. "You! I thought you had said it was opened on the Dane. I demand you and Beckett figure out a way to open it!" He calms down a bit. "I need to know what's inside. I have other matters to attend to. Come get me when a solution has been found." And with that, he stalks back over to his desk and starts filing his paperwork once again, leaving Beckett, Ari, and Dean standing around in awkward silence.

Ari starts chatting with Beckett, talking about a professor or some shit and a kidnapping. Dean, however, is more focused on LaCroix's tantrum. Sure, he's blown up before - usually on Ari - but never like that. He takes a chance and stalks over to his desk, out of earshot of Ari and Beckett. "Hey, uh, Princess LaCroix. You doin' okay?" he lets the 'Princess' slip far too easily - he's been saying that too much in his head, he knew. There was no way he was ever going to be able to call the Prince anything else now.

"If you know what is good for you, Mister McMaron, you will refrain from addressing me as 'Princess'," he said, not even looking up from his papers.

Dean smirked. "Can't now. Still didn't answer my question." He paused, mulling over his words, which he hasn't done in a very long time. "I was just wonderin' if you were okay, what with getting the coffin finally and stuff. We have it now, so there's no reason to get all pissy. Besides, I'm sure Ari'll figure out a way to open it in no time. Sure, she's a spy, but so far she's done whatever you asked, right? Why stop now?"

LaCroix sighed. "Perhaps because her delivering the way to open the sarcophagus would ruin the Anarch movement, and she knows it?"

"Yeah, but she didn't know you needed a key or whatever to open it to start with, and she still brought it to you." As he said this, Ari and Beckett seemed to finish talking and she nodded to Dean in a goodbye before leaving the office. Becket returned his attention fully to the sarcophagus.

The Princess seemed to mull over Dean's words for a few minutes. "That is true. However I cannot fully trust your hypothesis yet. The end of this tirade is coming sooner than you may think, Mister McMaron. I will watch her movements, if you will assist me. Keep a watchful eye on her and her companions, so to speak."

"'Course, man. I've come this way with you, I ain't plannin' on switching teams anytime soon, don't worry. 'Sides, I like you better."

LaCroix gave him a half-hearted, unsure, smile before dismissing him.

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><p><strong>AN #2 **- You guys ready for the next chapter? 'Cause I'm freaking excited to write it, something's finally happening between our two favorite characters! But I've said too much already. I'll probably update within the next week or two. (famous last words, right?)


	9. Part 1, Chapter 9

**A/N** - Oh hey guys! I haven't seen you lovelies in a while. Ha sorry about being so utterly late about these. I won't give you the usual bullshit that I was too overworked or stressed or whatever, and I'm just going to jump right into- OMG I'M SO EXCITED GUESS WHAT CHAPTER I FINALLY WROTE. Kind of ended up being a bit shit, but I don't even care anymore because I DID it! Whooo! Still hope y'all enjoy it, of course. Less dialogue, and ALL the plot. Exciting shit, guys. WhooOOOooOo! haha Alright. I'll, just... uh... let you get back to reading. Kthnksbye

_agd888_ - I'm glad you're liking it! I hadn't realized it would be such a slow-progressing relationship; it just sort of happened like that and I'm going with it, ha. And you wanna know what clan Dean belongs to, you say? Well, I guess this is the chapter for you then. ;)

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><p><strong>9. Shadows<strong>

On another nightly walk, which Dean was beginning to do on a daily basis now, he passed by the Last Round for a drink and a bit of gossip to return to LaCroix. Nothing too exciting, except that Nines was gone because of the bloodhunt on him. Dean didn't really care, and he was sure LaCroix had expected it. He heads back onto the street after about an hour, and just lets himself enjoy the night air for once. He usually stays cooped up in his apartment in Santa Monica, but he'd been feeling a lot more active lately. He could only attribute it to the line of work he'd gotten into in the past month or so. He'd done more stuff within the last few weeks than he had in his entire un-life.

Eventually, Dean walked around a corner and sounds of sirens he thought were far off got incredibly louder. Another corner to where Venture stood and the flashing red and blue lights and the sirens were almost overwhelming. They were all positioned around Venture, but no one was around the cars in a sort of holdout, like in all the TV shows Dean usually watched.

Then he heard a few shouts and some gun shots from inside the Tower. His interest piqued, he did a bit of a jog towards the door and opened it very slowly, making sure not to draw too much attention. There were SWAT members inside, and police scrambling around, shouting. Dead bodies were strewn about the lobby, blood splattered on every available surface. The place was in utter panic.

"Shit!" Dean shouted, ducking into the lobby and behind the desk. A fleeting worry for the whereabouts of Officer Chunk passed through Dean's mind, but it was immediately drowned out by the sound of a shotgun discharge and a blood-splattering on the wall behind him. This was not only crazy, but sick.

After a few moments, Dean gathered his courage and peaked over the edge of his protective wall, noticing that the sounds had died down a tiny bit. The first thing he saw was the Sheriff, pummeling what looked like a Sabbat agent into the elevator door and the floor beneath it. The vampire crumbled into golden ashes and dissipated. Dean couldn't see any more enemies in the nearby vicinity, and so he scrambled towards the Sheriff, getting ready to demand some answers. "What the hell, dude?! Are these guys Sabbat or something? Why are they here?"

The Sheriff, of course, didn't answer him with anything but a sort of shrugging gesture. Dean had figured he was mute or something, but he still wasn't entirely sure.

Dean's head was suddenly clouded with the thought of his Princess. Wait, when did he become _his_? That's weird. Uh... Whatever. "Where's LaCroix?" he demanded, shaking his head to rid it of stranger thoughts.

Sheriff simply nodded his head upwards, gesturing towards the elevator. Dean nodded and jumped in, but before he could push the penthouse button, the Sheriff leaned in and pushed #6. He turned to Dean, nodded an affirmative, and left to bring his attention to some stragglers, and what looked to be backup flooding in through the back doors.

Dean was a bit antsy, wondering what would be waiting for him when he got to the sixth floor. Thousands of Sabbat, and a pile of ashes that was once royalty? Or would it be the other way around? Dean assumed Princess would have to have had some sort of combat ability - he was a soldier, after all. And he had to climb up the political ladder somehow, right? Maybe he had done some literal backstabbing. Whatever it was, he had to deal with it. And quickly.

The doors beeped cheerfully before opening, and Dean had to stop the urge to scowl at them. What right did they have to be happy right now? Oh god, now he was starting to sound like a _Malkavian. Get it together, man! You can fucking _do_ this._

The halls seemed fairly quiet for what the lobby was. He could hear a few shouts, but they all seemed so far away. And to add on to his anxiety, Dean had never even been to this part of the Tower. He had no idea where he was, or where he was supposed to be going. He wandered down the dark halls for quite a while, hearing some shouts farther off, and some closer than ever before - but he had yet to see anybody.

For what it was worth, Dean was liking the decor of the halls. To be honest, it was the first time he had been in a real fancy _working_ building, and it was nice. It was still dark, but he could make out the nice floors and the patterned wallpaper. The doors, some times open, sometimes closed, generally lead to grand offices or waiting rooms of some kind. But honestly, Dean couldn't remember what the actual 'kine' Venture Tower was supposed to _do_, so he had no context for the offices. They were just... nice.

But after quite a few moments of wandering, Dean was starting to get frustrated. There were sounds of fighting all around him, but he wasn't able to find them, and it was infuriating! Were they even here? Was he going crazy? Maybe he _was_ a Malkavian, he had just never known until now. No, that would be crazy. Who is insane and not know it? Idiot, everybody who is insane doesn't know it.

Shit, he was talking to himself now.

Dean shook his head and returned to looking in doorways and wandering the halls. Still nothing. Finally, at the very end of the current hallway, where the light of the setting moon was streaming in through a large window, the sounds were louder than they ever had been. Dean turned to his left and kicked down the door, splinters flying at him from the breaking point.

Nothing but a desk and a potted plant.

Growling, Dean turned around again and kicked the door opposite, this time cleanly. Finally, thank god, there were people! Honest-to-god, real-life, bad guys! Dean charged in, focusing his previous frustration on the Sabbat.

They didn't really react until he started yelling - which was probably a bad move in hindsight, but whatever. One guy turned around, his bright red and black eyes focusing intently on him before charging himself. Dean came at him with his fist ready, though. He wasn't real good at combat, but his anger had gotten him into enough bar fights that he knew how to handle a few punches.

Except this guy was terrifying. His hands looked like they were made of claws, and his hunch was that of a wild animal. He came at Dean screaming, his eyes blazing, and practically jumped on him. Dean shouted, reaching up to block his face from the claws. Eventually the Sabbat stopped flailing and Dean was able to shove him off. Immediately, he ran to a corner of the room, where he had spotted a discarded pistol of some kind. He was not a gun expert, _at all_, but he knew what a trigger did and that was all he needed in his mind.

The Sabbat came running at him a second time, this time with his friend beside him. Dean raised his arm, closed his eyes, and shot randomly around where he thought the heads would be on the maniacs. After unloading a whole clip and not feeling claws in his skin yet, he finally opened one eye slowly, then the other, lowering his guard slightly. The two he had been shooting at were ash.

Dean laughed, his eyes bugged and slightly hysteric. He hadn't really expected that to work.

It was quiet now. Apparently there weren't any more in the area. Shaking a bit, Dean looked around to make sure he didn't miss anything, and, sure enough, he saw that LaCroix was actually in the room, passed out on the floor against the wall. Dean thought he must've gotten hit pretty hard to get knocked out cold like that. He rushed to the Prince in a flurry of concern, reaching down to shake him awake. LaCroix only moaned minutely and refused to move, if he was even slightly conscious.

Just then, a flood of Sabbat filled the room again, pouring in from the door. They must've heard all the gunshots.

But Dean was furious at them now for harming his boss. Like, why the hell were they here anyway? Did they really not care about the consequences of killing a Prince? Did they not know they would be instantly executed, or did they just not care? Their grins indicated the latter as they closed in on him and the prone form of his Princess.

Anger boiled in Dean - like literally, it felt like his skin was boiling. Like the blood was returning to life in his veins. He saw the surface of his skin turn flush like it hadn't done in 42 years, and he felt... hot. Suddenly, a feeling of weightlessness flowed through him and forced him to stand back on his feet. His head felt light and the room was swimming a bit. His vision turned weird then, as if there was some sort of dark film over them, like a pair of sunglasses sown into his sockets.

Finally all the weird sensations left him, and he felt perfectly normal. Except all the Sabbat in front of him looked terrified now. He was surprised he wasn't dead already, being incapacitated like that right in front of them. But they were all backing away from him, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open. Dean quirked an eyebrow at them and was about to spit some witty remark at them about being scardycats when he noticed that they weren't looking _at_ him, they were looking _above_ him.

He looked too, curious and a bit scared himself. But what he saw... was weird.

It was like a... shadow of come sort was growing up the wall, like a snake slithered, and it put off an air of plain ol' terror. It was growing, too. Reaching across the wall, and then the ceiling, as if it were reaching for something. Dean saw more out of the corner of his eye and realized they were all over the walls and floor too, as if a great darkness was reaching out to the Sabbat goons. And it... was coming from himself.

It was _his_ dark shadow-y things! That's what made him feel all weird and hot. Was it some sort of new power or something? He didn't have time to think it over too long, as the darkness quickly lunged at the idiots in front of him, snaking their way around their preys' bodies and pretty much squeezing them in half. The vampires started to burst into ashes one by one, leaving Dean in utter shock.

As soon as the last one popped, the shadows retreated back across the ceiling and the walls, falling back into place behind Dean. When he turned around, though, there were no more shadows. He was all alone, standing in piles of ashes.

There was still the matter of his precious Princess, however. His anger gone and the bad guys taken care of, Dean forgets his new ability and rushes over to LaCroix. The Prince is obviously not dead, as he was still in a solid, not ash-y, form, but the way he wasn't breathing sent chills down Dean's spine. He dropped to his knees beside the Prince, rolling him over so he was facing upward toward the ceiling, and then pulled his torso into Dean's lap. Dean sat against the wall with his Prince safe in his arms, and sighed. Thank god that was over. Well, almost over.

After a couple minutes of worrying about LaCroix's current state (and kind of enjoying his weight on his lap, though he would never admit that), Dean could see through the open door the window that had once been filled with moonlight was now turning a lighter shade of blue. It was going to be getting light out soon, and Dean would very much prefer it if the Prince wasn't almost dead dead when his Gorilla comes in to check on him.

"What do I do?" he mumbled, feeling worried again. He started shaking LaCroix a bit, but he was completely unresponsive. "Shit." He shook him again. "Fuck, Princess, wake up! Your Sheriff will be here, and he'll give me Final Death if you're not peachy keen!" Dean tried to pull LaCroix up more, to sit him upright, but the heavy body just slumped against his lap again. "Shit, shit shit shit... What the hell do I do? I thought you'd be up and at 'em by now! LaCroix!"

The only thing Dean could think of that would might help wake him up was blood, but there wasn't any of that around. He had his own blood, sure, but Dean was pretty positive that another kindred's blood wouldn't work very well. Hell, at all. There wasn't anything else to do though!

"Fuck it," Dean mumbled before shifting LaCroix to sit up more and leaning his head back on one arm. He tried awkwardly to roll up his sleeve by pulling on it with his chin, which took quite a while on its own before it would finally stay where he put it. Then, gently, he brought his wrist up to his mouth and put small punctures in it. He then lowered his wrist to LaCroix's mouth, trying not to notice how soft his lips were on his skin.

Dean was sure LaCroix would kill him for this later, for how undignified he might think it is. It _was_ kind of awkward, and Dean was still 75% sure it wouldn't work, but it was the only thing on hand and Princess would just have to deal with that.

It took a long while before Dean felt anything even drip from his wrist, but once it did, he could feel LaCroix's throat immediately contract as he swallowed it. Another few drops, and LaCroix's eyes fluttered open, though they looked wild and unknowing. Dean jumped when he finally felt Princess's fangs slide into the wound he had created for him. His mind was so muddled with worry and fear, however, that he barely registered the spark of heat that was set off within his body when LaCroix started drinking. Mildly, he noted that it did feel _good_, LaCroix drinking from him, which was kind of weird. But he was too far occupied to experience anything more.

Dean could start to feel the voracity in Princess's drinking start to ebb away, and eventually he pulled his wrist away. The sleeve fell right down, as he had expected, and LaCroix looked completely normal again. His wounds were gone, and his eyes looked that beautiful ice blue once more. But as soon as their eyes met, a strong wave of sleepiness came over them both, and Dean noted mildly that there was sunlight streaming in before his eyes felt too heavy to possibly keep them open a moment longer.


	10. Part 1, Chapter 10

**A/N** - Ahh! I'm glad so many of you liked the last chapter! I was so excited to release it, I was hoping y'all would enjoy it. :) This one is a little more boring (and has tons of POV changes and time breaks, sorry), but integral to the plot, I assure you. We've been weaving in and out of the official plot, and we're nearing the end bits of the game, so be prepared for some exciting shit. Pretty much just scary places, action-shots, and plot twists for the rest of Part 1, so yeah. Strap in!

Lots of new faces in the reviews section, as well, I see... Mmm, juicy! haha

_zXAmeliaXz - _haha Yeah I was trying to play with the audience a bit and make think he was Malkavian; glad it worked! haha Yeah I tried to avoid actually saying his clan out loud as well, since it's mostly from his point of view and he doesn't know much more about the clans than a casual V:tM-B player would. But it's obvious enough to an expanded universe lover, I think. Glad to know you're liking the story so far!

_midblooder - _Thanks. :) A lot of other stories that I've read generally portray LaCroix as a bit more violent than I always thought he was. I mean, we never see him actually fight with anyone, just kinda boss about and throw tantrums. So I thought I'd try and make him a bit more tame - less 'evil bastard' and more 'pompous CEO', y'know? But don't worry; we'll see him throw a few punches later in the fic. ;) (By the way, I could totally see Gangrel on Dean. Though, I don't want to give it away too easily, but I'll go ahead and tell ya that he isn't a Camarilla clan.)

_Georgia Jackdaw - _Exactly! I always liked him better than pretty much... everyone. haha He was always so straightforward and was like, 'you do this, I pay you, you don't die'. It was refreshing, haha! I've tried pretty hard to keep him polite as he would be, but also not so lenient that he's too nice. I'm glad you think I'm doing well. I hope I can keep it up~! *fingers crossed*

_Lyumia - _Oh my goodness! Sorry about your printer! haha Hope it's not too broken! I'm glad you liked the story so much that it invoked a physical response, though, hahaha. And don't worry, there'll be quite a few more Dean/LaCroix scenes, plenty more where the last one left off. ;) Glad you're enjoying the story!

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><p><strong>10. You Want Us to Do What?<strong>

"...What the fuck?"

Ariane had arrived early that night, and then proceeded to help the Sheriff spend the better part of the night looking all over Venture Tower for any signs of Dean and LaCroix. From 9:00 pm to about 1:30 am, they searched all the levels of the Tower, navigating the maze that was the Tower's hallways. Sheriff seemed to know more about the layout than Ariane, obviously, though it was clear that he hadn't visited them much before. 'Round about 1:35, though, Ariane had finally come across a door at the end of a hallway, jarred open and smelling faintly of dust. Suspicious, she walked around the doorway to peak inside, and sure enough, the two dolts were in there. In a bit of a compromising position.

She stared for a moment, brows raised as she contemplated why exactly Dean had LaCroix wrapped protectively in his arms, his head resting on her boss' shoulder. Or why LaCroix had his hand laid across Dean's torso, or why their feet were entangled. Both fast asleep. "...What the fuck?" she said out loud, drawing the attention of the Sheriff (also incidently caused Dean to shift a bit against LaCroix and nuzzle his face closer to his neck).

The Sheriff silently lumbered over to the doorway, breathing deeply in what could be construed as a sigh as he looked at the figure of his boss and their new employee. Stoic as ever, he stepped into the room and prepared to wake the two sleeping innocents.

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><p>LaCroix was at a loss as to what to think. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so compromised, let alone when he had been unconscious due to injury. He recalled being cornered by quite a few Sabbat hooligans, and ridding of some of them before more were introduced. He had been overwhelmed, and lost awareness.<p>

He vaguely remembers Mr. McMaron arriving, and feeling quite relived to have the lowlife there with him. There was a certain blackness, and then Mr. McMaron was shouting at him. He couldn't find the strength to open his eyes, but he could almost _feel_ the panic leveling his employee. Then there was a wetness at his lips, and a delicious, addicting flavor seeped down his throat, forcing his body to jump into action. He fangs revealed themselves and plunged into the source of their own accord. When he regained control of his faculties, it had been too late. He had drank from another kindred.

And therein lied the problem. While it had most likely saved his unlife, it frightened him to be at such a disadvantage. He could remember the ties he had had to his Sire, and how reliant his ghoul, Mercurio, was on his blood and the devotion the Bond caused. He did not want that for himself, especially to his own lowlife of an employee. While Mr. McMaron was quite loyal, and had yet to show any signs of betrayal, a Prince simply could not afford such a liability.

The Prince took a moment to look at the kin who had saved his unlife, lying on his couch within his office, still unconscious. He had sustained injuries, mostly along his forearms and face, where LaCroix suspected a Sabbat brute had clawed at him. It seemed, though, that Mr. McMaron might have sustained brain injuries as well, as he had refused to awaken ever since he had been moved to the office. He wasn't particularly worried, however if Mr. McMaron were to eventually reach Final Death, he would be out a loyal employee and agent. The Prince was contemplating ways to revive him when said employee decided to wake up.

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><p>Everything was bleary at first, coming to his eyes in a blinding light of shapes and colors. He noticed a particularly dark blob right above his face, and recognized it as Ari's dark hair. He attempted speech, but his voice just kind of came out as a low grumble of sleepy throat noises. Besides, Ari beat him to it.<p>

"The fuck did you think you were doing?" she asked angrily, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side. Her face was coming in a bit clearer now, and he could tell she obviously wasn't very happy.

He groaned again, this time intentionally, and covered his eyes with his arm. Except the marks on his arm burned as he touched them, and he realized that he had some serious boo-boos. "Whaddya mean?" he slurred at her, gently setting his arms to his sides as he sat up slowly. He took a second to look around - he was in Princess's office. On that really ugly couch, too. Figures.

Ariane just tsked at him and shook her head angrily. "You were cuddling with the Prince when we found you, all cut up. And _tons_ of dead vamps around you. Care to explain?"

God, she was starting to sound more like his mother every day. "Fuck you. I killed them. I saved the Princess. What's your problem again?" he groused, refusing to look up at her again. Until a thought struck, and his eyes found hers immediately. "Cuddling?"

But she just ignored him, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Prince wants to talk to us. You up for a job, slick?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Not... really. Can I just take a mome- "

"Ah! You're awake. Good," the Prince cuts him off, striding towards his two employees with a bit of a spring in his step, for being almost dead. Again. "Are you feeling well, Mr. McMaron?" he asks, grinning softly. Kinda weirding Dean out.

"Uh... not so much- "

"Good! Good. I have a task for you. Both of you." He looks at Ariane, hesitation just barely in his eyes. Dean wonders briefly how he had gotten to reading the Princess so well. "The Sabbat are desperate. A pack of shovelheads with cheap pistols was all they could muster. They've been mislead into thinking the sarcophagus holds a sleeping ancient, their most coveted feats. Diablerists," he said the last word under his breath in a sound of disdain.

Dean got curious. "What's a diablerist?" he asks innocently.

LaCroix scowled, though it was directed more to the subject than Dean. Then he launched into monologue mode. "The Sabbat's infamy is due, in no small part, to their practice of diablerie. That is, drinking the blood of other kindred, especially older ones, until they are dead." The mention of drinking another kindred's blood made LaCroix's voice strain a bit and Dean freeze. Ari didn't seem to notice, however. "Diablerists gain the power of those they've fed upon. In the Camarilla, this act is punishable by death."

Questions about Dean's decision the previous nice flooded into his head. Was it only until they were dead? What if LaCroix had some of his power now? He didn't know what that shadow thing was last night, but he was positive he'd never seen it before, even on other kindred. Maybe it was a unique power, or only very few kin had it? Maybe he had passed it on to LaCroix now? Or maybe even LaCroix would be given Final Death for drinking from him, even if it was to save his unlife. Or maybe Dean would be Finalized? It helped him, sure, but Dean _did_ feel pretty dirty forcing his blood down the Princess's throat. Maybe it was like the vampire equivalent of _rape_? Dean shuddered.

But the Princess kept on, either not noticing Dean's discomfort or choosing to ignore it. "For the moment, we've manipulated the press into reporting tonight's events as a terrorist attack. The threat the Sabbat pose to the Masquerade is abundantly clear. As my best agents," He looked Dean directly in the eye, almost ignoring Ariane this time. "I'm sure you can guess my course of action. This is where you come in.

"The Sabbat have made their haven at the Hallowbrook Hotel - right under our noses, here in downtown. Kill their leader; the rest with scamper out of the city. This is the last time they will ever set foot in Los Angeles."

Ari seemed determined to do what she was told - for what reason, Dean may never know. She sure was good at playing her 'loyal follower' card, though. She grabbed Dean's arm again out of sheer habbit and yanked him to his feet, not caring that she grasped his wounds so tightly. He winced, but stood up with her. But LaCroix stopped them before they could walk out. "Before you go - Beckett told me you went to the Society of Leopold, Miss Noel. Did you find out how my sarcophagus is opened?"

Though a bit hesitant, Ariane turned around and nodded slowly, getting ready to deal with the Princess head-on. As much as she talked shit to Dean, and even knowing she was a spy, she sure did seem frightened of a little French man. "Y-yes, sir. There's a... key."

"A key? Where? Do you have it?" He was practically jumping for joy, his current worries floating away into the distance.

Ariane sighed. "That's the thing, sir. I don't know." Before LaCroix could throw another tantrum, she quickly added, "But I killed Bach!"

The Princess was quiet for a moment, letting the information sink in and to calm down from the key thing. Then he smiled, almost genuinely. "Not only did you infiltrate the Society of Leopold, but you managed to kill their greatest hunter! You certainly are developing a legend for yourself. A toast to you, Mr. McMaron, and the victory over the Sabbat! And to Bach, may all his progeny meet such fates."

Dean swore he would be able to hear the fakeness in that praise a mile away.

LaCroix's faux smile faded away then, returning back to the current mission. "The Sabbat must be wiped out before dawn. Then, when you come back, we'll begin the hunt for the key."

Ariane started out the door, and Dean followed her slowly. But as she left the room and the door closed behind her, Dean hesitated. He thought for a moment about what he was about to do, then turned back around to look at LaCroix. The Princess had already started to make his way back to his desk and didn't notice Dean not leaving. Dean takes an unnecessary deep breath. "Princess?" he called out softly, still not aware of how disrespectful the pet name was.

LaCroix jumped ever so slightly, then turned around to scowl at Dean for calling him such a thing. But when he saw Dean's face, and that genuine look of concern, his anger fell away into confusion. "Yes, Mr. McMaron? I'm quite busy, as you should be too." He paused. "And I would appreciate if you'd refrain from addressing me as 'Princess'."

Dean just kind of smirked, though it was far more soft than many would consider a smirk to be. "Yeah, well, you know me. My mouth has a mind of it's own." An awkward silence filled the room as LaCroix waited for Dean to say whatever it was he needed to say. Dean rubbed the back of his neck and his brows drew together. "I... well, uh, Mr. Boss sir, I was just wondering if you were... doing alright. What with the attack and everything." He cleared his throat.

The Princess's cold, icey eyes softened and his shoulders sagged a little. And for a moment, LaCroix looked human. Well, not _human_, but... _hell_, you know what I mean. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. McMaron. I'm still quite weary from the earlier battle, but I've been treated to some fine vitae since I awoke, and I am recovering quite quickly. Though, as I am to understand it, you were the one to come to my rescue." His lips tug at a small smile.

Dean grins widely at the news, finding his confidence once again. "Of course! The knight in shining armor must always come to save his Princess!" he laughed, then realized the implications of such a comparison. "Well, what I meant was- "

LaCroix's eyes had widened a fraction for a moment there, but since returned to his scowling. "Go do your job, Mr. McMaron."

Seeing that as a way out, Dean nodded quickly before practically running out of the office.

* * *

><p>"So... that was fun." Dean doubled over, pain coursing through his whole being. Everything hurt - from his muscles, to his organs, to the numerous amount of wounds that covered his whole body. His head was throbbing from a few sharp blows and the cut on his calf was making it extremely difficult to move his leg - not to mention the sheer amount of bullet holes that spotted his internal organs and muscle masses. "Shit, Ari, we could have used... backup."<p>

Ariane fared no better. She was also grievously injured, with a few scattered shotgun wounds to her torso along with the average amount of cuts, bruises, and bullet holes. While Dean had dealt with the majority of the Sabbat throughout the hotel, Ariane got the brunt of Andrei's attack. There was no doubt she had many broken bones.

The hotel itself was horrible. They originally had to ride the window cleaner's lift thing to get in, and from that point onward had to fight through tons of winding hallways, empty rooms, and just generally disgusting places full of Sabbat assholes. While not quite the hardest guys to take down, their sheer numbers were enough to stagger the Sheriff. And after floor after floor, Dean and Ari finally made it to the basement, where they had run into Andrei - apparently a tzimisce (of whom Dean had only heard horrible stories) she'd befriended while looking for the nosferatu. He defied the laws of physics and turned himself into a monster, then swam under 6 in pools of blood to flank them. It was fun. _Really_.

Ari just put on her bitch face, not even bothering to turn around and show him it. "Yeah, well, we didn't have it. And it's done. So shut the fuck up so we can get back to Venture and get us some fucking blood. _Okay_?"

Dean found enough strength within his arm to raise it and flap his fingers and thumb together in a mock 'nagging' motion.

Another flight of stairs and they would be back to the surface, the blessed land that was a paved street. Dean decided he wouldn't mind the last bit of their journey together to be silent. A couple more painful steps on the top of the stairs, across the lobby, Ari's hand on the front door knob, and -

"Be at peace, kin, you stand among friends now." - _Holy mother of the planet and space and shit! _It's some sort of freaky Asian chick! As Dean's jumped out of his skin, Ariane seems to have recognized this woman and is talking with her. _What the fuck? _Apparently they were already carrying on a conversation. How do women do that? "I've come to reveal to you the truth, so that you may see that you are not the fists of LaCroix but the hands that will put the final events of this war into motion."

Already Dean was on edge. This sounded like some sort of scheme to try and turn him and Ari against LaCroix. Ari was already on the Anarch's side, but Dean was steadfast in his loyalty to his Princess. He wasn't about to let some creepy Asian vampire get in the way of that.

"We had an arrangement, LaCroix and I. A mutually beneficial pact to drive the lesser factions from the city. However, LaCroix's zeal in recovering the Ankaran Sarcohpagus has been to the exclusion of many relationships... mine included. And I, like both of you, have been used by him in his desperate quest for power."

Ariane seemed interested, if not in what LaCroix had done, then at least some sort of intel for her Anarchs. "How so?"

The Asian lady looked pleased to have gotten through to Ariane's curiosity. "LaCroix feared Alistair Grout, the Malkavian primogen - for the cursed insight of his bloodline was strong and brought him uncomfortably close to the truth about LaCroix's ambitions. LaCroix saw an opportunity to rid himself of two problems - a hardened rebel leader and a problematic primogen - in one fell stroke. And, as you can see, I was integral to his plan." The woman then morphed into a perfect image of Nines, striking Dean with a horrible realization. He never really liked Nines - and they were on opposite sides, sure, but to have led to a bloodhunt on the guy because of this bitch? Dean's fists clenched of their own accord. He didn't like being played. "LaCroix convinced me that an alliance with the Camarilla could strengthen the position of the Kuei-jin. And so, with my help, your prince framed Nines Rodriguez for the murder of Alistair Grout."

Ariane turned to Dean. "So it was her? That you saw? And LaCroix... set all that up?" Dean wasn't sure who all she was trying to play now, with her fake worry - the Chinese lady, or him.

"Yes," chick answered for him. "He was made to be the witness, for his political naivete put his word beyond reproach; no one would believe he'd devise such a story. LaCroix used him and once again turned a problem to his own advantage. Our dealings with LaCroix have put his integrity into question. He has become careless. His desire for the sarcophagus seems to have superseded all other concerns, including political discretion. It is obvious to me that he wishes to obtain it only so that he might use its power against those who would oppose him. If he betrays his own kind in these pursuits, can I trust him to honor our allegiances? Can you?"

Dean had heard enough. "You're spewing bullshit, lady. Of fucking course I can trust him. He's not done even a single facial expression to show otherwise," he spat, taking a step towards her, trying to intimidate.

But she remained calm and collected. "You need to understand that you are a liability, Kindred. Once LaCroix finds the right moment, you will be disposed of, just as he did with Alistair Grout, Mr. Rodriguez, and countless others. You are no more to him than an entry on his ledger; a sum of that which can be bled from you."

"Shut the _fuck_ up, lady! I'm so much more valuable to Princess than any of you! He gives me the real shit, the jobs no one else can do. He trusts me! I get to see his face, his _humanity_. I bet if you'd stop trying to kiss everyone's ass to get whatever it is you fucking want, you'd realize that there's _nothing for you here_!" With that, he spun around and walking away, not caring in the least bit that Ariane was not following him.

Softly, he overheard the lady say a few more words to Ari before he was completely out of earshot: "Hear these words, Kindred. The sarcophagus is sealed against the ages; only the proper key will break this seal. That key now lies safely in Kuei-jin hands. Your prince's prize cannot be had without it. I hope you recognize my sincerity, Kindred. I would like to see you reach your destination before your path is cut short. I hope when next we meet, it is again as friends."


End file.
